Of Time Lords, Detectives, and Philosopher Stones
by 13tash07
Summary: POTTERWHOLOCK AU! Sherlock Holmes is about to start his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, alongside Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. But what is going on at the school, and who is John Smith? Based on Book 1 of HP, with Sherlock's Sherlock Holmes and a strange young version of the tenth Doctor...
1. A Chance Meeting

**Hey! Me again! I know it's been a while, but I have a new story. This one is PotterWhoLock! Due to the bad summary, I suppose I should simply explain; Harry, Ron and Hermione are the same as in the books. However, Sherlock Holmes is added as an eleven year old starting at the same time as them, and then there is John Smith... **

**Anyhoo, basically Sherlock and John Smith (no, not Watson. Smith.) are being added into the book. This is the first, and I shall probably write them into all seven years. Enjoy, Read and Review!**

Sherlock Holmes was an unusual eleven year old. He was taller than most his age, with pale skin, icy blue eyes and curly, jet black hair. His stance was one of odd confidence, and he was dressed oddly in black jeans and a white collared shirt, a blue scarf wrapped around his neck and a long black jacket finishing it off. The wooden trunk was dragged behind him as he walked through kings cross station with an older boy. The older boy was Sherlock's brother and only living relative, Mycroft Holmes. Eighteen years old and fully grown, he was wearing an oddly neat suit and talking. It was quite clear that Sherlock wasn't paying attention.

They reached the wall between platforms nine and ten, and Sherlock finally talked.

"You don't need to come through with me."

"Of course I do. It's my little brother's first year at Hogwarts. Plus, I want to know what it's like from an outsider's point of view."

The eleven year old rolled his eyes, leaning casually against the barrier. There was a second, and then he was gone. Any normal person would be startled by that, but Mycroft simply smiled and leaned against the wall, slipping through to platform 9 and 3/4. There was a bright red steam train waiting for them, and Sherlock had a look of wonder in his eyes. Well, not so much wonder as calculation.

"I'll see you later, Mycroft."

And without another word to his brother, Sherlock walked off, dragging his trunk behind him as he walked into the carriage. He found an empty one and sat down on his own. He liked being on his own. People, well, most people, were so dull. Even wizards.

* * *

><p>John Smith, every now and then, wished he could remember. He was eleven years old, but had the memory of only one of those years. Sure, he had knowledge and intelligence that much surpassed anything people had seen, but he didn't know how he'd gotten it. He didn't know his parents, he didn't know his friends, he didn't even know his own name. John Smith was a title that had been bestowed to him by the people at the orphanage.<p>

It had been a shock when the owl had flown in with his letter, a letter about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He hadn't know about a wizarding world. But he was glad of it, and happy when he'd gone to the wand shop and found his beautiful wand. He remembered having nervously entered the wand store, his heart fluttering as Olivander looked at him. He'd walked amongst the shelves for ages, giving him wand after wand, but not one of them were right. It wasn't until the seventy third wand that the odd looking man had shaken his head.

"Maybe... just maybe..."

John had wanted to ask what he was muttering about, but he held his tongue as Olivander disappeared. He waited for a few minutes, before the man came back out with on odd looking box.

"I found the wood for this wand a while ago. I couldn't quite tell what tree it was from, but it was most certainly powerful. I made it into a wand a while ago, but it hasn't chosen an owner yet. But maybe... just maybe..."

He handed it to John, who had apprehensively taken it and pulled it out. It was a sleek, long, silver wand. By the shine and colour of it, you'd think it was made purely of the precious metal, but John could feel it was just made of wood. He also felt a beautiful feeling as he held it - like it was naturally there. He flicked it, and trails of golden light followed in his path. He'd smiled at Olivander, who had sold him the wand and told him that he was sure he was destined for great things.

After the wand, John had simply waited for the first day of school to roll around. He hoped that this place would not only offer him a home, but some answers. Perhaps it would give him some insight to his past.

For he knew he had a past. He may have turned up with no memories, but at night he dreamed. He dreamed of a blue box that was infinitely bigger on the inside. He'd run in and she'd stroke his mind, and he'd greet her in return. That big, blue box followed him in his dreams, singing to him in his sleep.

Now was the first day of school, and he was scared. He had no clue where he had to go or what he had to do, so he was just hanging out near the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The hand that was clutching his trunk was sweaty, and he looked around. He watched as two boys, one barely older than him and the other at least eighteen, leaned casually against the barrier and were just... gone.

John followed them up to the barrier, and then leaned against the wall. He slipped through, and much to his shock arrive at platform nine and three quarters. The entire place was bustling, a train with the label 'the hogwart's express' sitting there. He looked around, before entering the train, walking through the carriages. Everyone seemed to have already been seated. He kept walking until he saw a carriage with only one person in it. The dark haired boy whom he'd seen go through the barrier.

"Hello," he said slightly awkwardly, smiling slightly. "Mind if I sit here?"

He didn't wait for an answer, simply putting his trunk in and sliding in after it. The boy looked at him with pale blue eyes, seemingly assessing his slightly ragged clothes, his sticking up brown hair and kind brown eyes. Getting the feeling the other boy wasn't going to talk, John began to strike up his own conversation.

"Is your brother not coming?"

This got the boy's eyes straight back on his. "How do you know my brother, and that he's not here?"

John shrugged half-heartedly. "Well, I saw you go through the barrier with him. He's nowhere old enough to be your parents, so brother. If you'd come with him, he would probably be near by. After all, he was the only one at the station with you - I doubt he'd just leave his little brother on his own."

The paler boy smiled - a slightly insane, brilliant smile. "Very good. How's the orphanage?"

"How'd you know?"

"Easy. You are obviously alone - you have no siblings anywhere near, but your clothes are hand-me-downs. They have obviously gone through various generations. The label on your top says 'Mike Plain', and the one on your trunk 'James Morrison'. Obviously not family. And there's a rip in your top - not a fashionable rip, nor one your parents would let you get away with. A mother would have taken it off and fixed it. Therefore, no parents, or neglective ones. Since you're wearing other's clothes, I'd say none. Therefore, orphan."

Now it was John's turn to smile. The boy held out his hand. "I'm Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

John took it. "John Smith."

Sherlock sank back in his chair, not seeming to want to make conversation. John didn't mind; he'd made a friend, and it was only a couple of minutes in.


	2. The Sorting

**Answers to reviews!**

**fleuve0styx: Why thank you! I hope I can live up to the cool idea... it's a plot that I've had for ages, and I've only just gotten time to write it down... so hopefully it will live up to both your expectation and mine**

**RRW: I'm glad I've caught your interest, and I hope it continues to entertain you**

**clyhos****: no, it is not Watson. Watson will come in at some stage, but not for quite a while yet. Also, Spanish as a first language? Hablo español. Un poco... Estoy aprendizaje para escuela. And I hope that was correct...**

Sherlock and John both sat in a rather comfortable silence for half of the train ride. Sherlock was looking out the window, memorising where they were going, while John was reading a school book on charms, his silver wand out. He'd seen a section about levitating objects, and was now practicing casting the charm.

_Swish and flick. _"Wingardium Leviosa."

John's eyes light up as his trunk lifted. He repeated the charm multiple times, until nothing in the carriage was untouched. Eventually, Sherlock's eyes left the window and fixed on John.

"Would you stop it?"

"Sorry."

Sherlock's eyes once again glanced over John, before looking at his silver wand.

"What type of wood is that?"

John looked at the wand in his hand and shrugged. "Olivander said he didn't know. Probably some exotic gum tree."

Sherlock seemed to instantly take in that information. John wondered what the other boy was doing with it, but didn't dare voice the question. He was about to suggest changing into their wizarding robes, as he wasn't sure how much longer it would be, when a young girl appeared at the door of their carriage. She had frizzy brown hair and a slightly snobbish look, her eyes falling instantly on John's wand.

"Oh, you're trying to do magic too? I saw a couple of boys just down the corridor who were practicing. Not very good, really. Are you any better?"

John shrugged his shoulders - he could see Sherlock was not going to back him up. He pulled out his wand and gave a swish and a flick, saying "Wingardium Leviosa".

His trunk began to rise in time with the girl's eyebrows. She seemed reasonably impressed by this, especially when he put it down gently on the chair next to him. There was a silence, Sherlock still just gazing out the window, when she finally spoke.

"Much better than the boys down the corridor. But that wasn't what I was originally going to say. A boy just down the corridor, Neville, has lost his toad. If you see it, can you grab it?"

And then she was gone. A second later, Sherlock spoke up.

"Muggle born. Obviously. First year, wanting to impress. Probably has memorised half the text books, if not all of them, in the want to make an impression. We should probably get changed into our robes; we'll be there soon."

* * *

><p>John had never seen anything as impressive as the great hall of Hogwarts. The entire place was a massive castle, with portraits that moved and talked as you walked past. They were shuffled forwards and told that they had to wait until the start of the sorting. They were all a bit wet and cold, and it didn't help that a poltergeist kept swooping down and smashing water bombs over them. Sherlock and John managed to avoid most of them, but they did both have soaked socks before Peeves was finally shooed from the hall and they were ushered in.<p>

Everybody seemed to be apprehensive about the sorting. Well, everyone but Sherlock. He'd simply looked bored by everything, even the floating candles. John would be soaking it all up, grinning in wonder and awe, while Sherlock simply glanced at it with cold, analysing gaze. So when they were all ushered into the hall, Sherlock didn't bat an eyelid at the hat. Not even when it began talking.

The sorting still began. Sherlock was watching everyone with interest, but John didn't really care too much. The first person he really noticed was Hermione Granger. He recognised the girl as the one he'd shown off to in the train. She was promptly soted into Gryffindor. A couple more names were called, but soon it was "Holmes, Sherlock."

There was an odd sort of silence in the room when the name was called. John's friend walked up to the stool, head held high as he placed himself down and had the hat drop onto his head. There was still silence as the hat seemed to think. One minute passed. Then two. Then three. John could tell by Sherlock's face that he was arguing with the hat in his mind, a sentence that would in any other context be interesting. Finally, the hat slowly opened it's brim.

"I think we have a Gryffindor."

There was a silence in the room for a second, everyone seeming to let this news sink in, but some twins with flaming red hair stood up and started to clap and cheer. Soon the rest of the house joined in as Sherlock joined them.

Once again the sorting fell into the same boring way. John tuned out until a Potter, Harry was called, and once again a silence fell over the hall.

This silence was different to Sherlock's. Sherlock's had been silent with apprehension and odd fear. Harry's was tight with excitement and awe. The black haired kid walked up to the stool and sat down. The hat fell over his head.

It didn't take as long as Sherlock's had, but there was still a bit of a pause. Finally, it roared out "Gryffindor!"

There was immense cheering. The same twins who had begun cheering Sherlock were yelling "We got Potter! We got Potter!" The entire hall was roaring with sound. John made a mental note to ask Sherlock about this Harry Potter.

The sorting continued, people going into all four houses. John was beginning to get nervous as the list came close to him. Finally, there was a "Smith, John," and it was his turn to step up.

There was no tense silence or anything for him. The level of sound was the exact same polite level as it was for everyone. He sat down on the seat and the hat was placed on his head.

_'Hm... interesting. There is so much here... so much knowledge, so much lost.'_

_'What?'_ John asked in his mind. _'Do you... do you know about my past?'_

_'I can see some things that you have hidden even from yourself. I can see great pain and sorrow, but also great triumph and bravery. You fight for what you believe in, and you understand what it takes along the way. You, Doctor, are an interesting specimen.'_

_'What did you just call me? Doctor? What do you mean?'_

_'All will become clear in due time, Time Lord. But for now, I say you should stay in...'_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word was yelled out, but John still had questions. He was disappointed when the hat was removed from his head and he had to go walk over to join Sherlock, so many unanswered questions buzzing around in his head.

**Mwahaha! Yea, I know I'm not being secretive about who John Smith really is, but I couldn't help myself... it just worked. Also, Sherlock is mainly in Gryffindor for the purpose of this story. I think he'd be more likely to be sorted into Slytherin or Ravenclaw, but like I said, story purposes. **


	3. Holmes: A Histoy

**Answers to reviews!**

**RRW: Interesting was exactly what I was going for. I'm going to have so much fun with writing Sherlock vs Hermione vs 'John'**

**clyhos****: Haha, thanks! I haven't been learning for too long, so hopefully my Spanish will improve a lot in the next 2 years.**

**jellybaby: Yea, I just knew people would complain about Sherlock's house. Hence the note. And I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm currently trying to update relatively regularly.**

The Gryffindor common room was lit with a fire that burned. Everyone was bustling around, talking in whispers, when John and Sherlock entered. Once again there was a tense silence following Sherlock's appearance, but it didn't last as long. John simply glanced at Sherlock, before they both went up the stair to their dormitory.

"So, who's this Harry Potter?"

John thought that would be the safest start to the conversation. He was more burningly curious about Sherlock's history, but that could wait. He'd ease his questions onto his friend, and he was equally curious about Harry.

"He's possibly one of the most famous wizards of our generation. Lord Voldemort, one of the most powerful wizards of all time, tried to kill him when he was a little kid, but his curse rebounded and killed him instead. Harry is regarded as something of a hero. Of course, he didn't know it."

Only Sherlock could sound bored while explaining that. John couldn't help but smile at the other boy's tone - he was most certainly unusual, but so was John. So was almost everyone in this school.

"Okay. What about you? What was with the silence when your name was announced."

This seemed to make Sherlock hesitate. A second later he was back to his usual state, but John had seen the chink in his armor. Armor that was quite uncommon in on eleven year old. Instantly ideas of what had happened raced through his head, everything coming up, before disappearing. Different ideas, conclusions, all changing as he put them to Sherlock in his own mind. He didn't expect Sherlock to talk, so was surprised when he did.

"The Holmes family is an old one. One with lots of history. We've been known for being clever, sly, and manipulative. In history, we were considered to be those who are always shadowing the most important people. Playing with them like puppets. And everyone knows that when Voldemort rose to power, my parents thought only of themselves. They knew they couldn't manipulate Voldemort - he wasn't the type. He wasn't clever, but he wasn't stupid.

"My parents didn't really join any anti-Voldemort movements, but they didn't support him at all. They were trying to cause an uprising of their own. In a world led by Voldemort, genocide and purity and favoritism would come in and rule. A world led by his opposers would be one of softness, nobody every getting anything done, nobody keeping order. But with the Holmes in charge... it would be a different situation. Holmes had been running things for ages. Smart, cunning, willing to keep people in line, but not too harsh. Detached. My parents thought it was time to step out of the shadows. But they'd waited too long. Me, my brother and my parents were the only Holmes left, the rest having been wiped out in the first uprising. And my parents stepped up to oppose Voldemort, alone. They were laughed at, but managed to survive.

"When the war ended, they once again asked for power. They were once again laughed at, so they began climbing and infiltrating. They were very good at their jobs, and were soon pretty high up. Until one of Voldemort's supporters went on a power rush and decided they were too dangerous to live. This man... he thought that if Voldemort were to rise again, the Holmes would crush him. There was a nasty and bloody fight. Nine ended up dead, including both my parents. I was six at the time, Mycroft being thirteen. We were passed on to some really distant aunt for quite some time, living in this sickly place. Mycroft would go off to school and I'd be left alone with my squib of an aunt."

John could tell this wasn't the whole story. Sherlock still had more to state. And he did, continuing to tell his tale. John had heard his voice change ever so slightly, becoming more animate, more emotional as he continued. Well, perhaps emotional was the wrong term. Less bored suited it better.

"My parents had left a trail of enemies in their wake. Many people whose toes they had trodden on, who'd been hurt or put out of place by them. It wasn't too long ago... only about a year or so. My brother was almost seventeen, and therefore of age. We were both ready to move out when he finished his final year at Hogwarts. We'd have freedom, away from any of our family. And it was a good dream until family history once again caught up with us.

"There is another family, the Moriarty family. A bit like the Holmes, but the opposite. While the Holmes guided the government like children to a path of almost right, the Moriartys would pull them away from all that was good. They made Voldemort look like a kitten. And they wanted to get rid of us all.

"I was the only one at home when they came. It was just three of them. The current eldest Moriartys and their son, Jim. They came in the dead of night, and there was a scuffle. Of course there was. At some stage, I managed to grab a wand. I still don't know whose it was, but it responded. I blew up my aunt's house. Most of the muggles on the street were killed, as were the two eldest Moriartys. However, me and Jim survived. It was all over the newspaper; 'Youngest Holmes blows up buildings.' And once again I was following in family footsteps. Being too powerful for my own good."

John seriously hadn't expected that much. Sherlock probably wanted to say his side of the story, before other people began whispering in his ear, telling him all these things. He simply stayed silent for a moment. Sherlock once again broke the silence.

"What about you? I bet you you have a fascinating past."

John shook his head, feeling his face turning pink. "I don't know. I can't remember anything before my tenth birthday. It's just a blank."

"Fascinating. You are very... fascinating."

John raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

John thought that it was a statement of personality when Sherlock's eyes instantly lit up. The brain behind them was whirring, bringing up facts from someone he'd only met that morning.

"You're an orphan with no past. No family history, no knowledge of background, nothing. But you come onto this train and make deductions about me based on the data available - a talent that very few people have. You've also got a wand made of unknown wood and a natural talent with magic. Your heart is racing, but you're skin is cool to the touch- almost too cool. You're not scared by me, nor are you repulsed. And finally, you're smart, but normal. Whatever your past is, I am willing to wager a guess that it is spectacular. A real mystery."

"Well, as fond as I am of mysteries, I'd prefer it if they weren't centred around me."

He could tell that Sherlock was going to retort. He was going to say something, probably blunt and witty, but he was interrupted by two boys coming up the stairs. One of them was the famous Harry Potter, the other one a ginger haired boy. Sherlock swallowed any comment, not wanting to talk in front of their company. John was a little bit glad - he was odd enough without his 'mystery' getting out.

"You're than Holmes kid, aren't you?" the ginger boy asked slightly bluntly. John could see a slight dislike rising in Sherlock's eyes, and knew that it probably wasn't the best way to start. Still, the ginger introduced himself. "Ron Weasley."

There was a slight pause, before Sherlock drew in a sighing breath and said, "Yes, I know who you are. Youngest Weasley. Your dad works at the ministry, but you don't have that much money as a family. You resent it, especially having seen the amount your orphaned friend has. Still, you resent it less that you pretend, and mainly complain simply to gain sympathy for trivial things. Easily jealous and angered. Pet rat... interesting. Missing front paw. Looks to be old, but garden rats don't live that long."

Ron looked slightly offended. "Oh, piss off."

Harry, on the other hand, was looking amazed. "How did you do that? Was it a type of magic?"

Sherlock snorted at the idea. "I suppose that to some of the more dense people it may seem like magic, but I simply used my brain and my eyes. A Weasley is easy to pick. Resentment, in your manner. But you've carefully darned the sleeve, showing that you don't quite resent them as much as you pretend. Pet rat, easy. Not just the hairs on your robes, but the rat that I can clearly see in your pocket."

Ron's ears were turning slightly red. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be interested in what Sherlock had just stated. John, on the other hand, rolled his eyes.

"Stop showing off."

"I like showing off. It's fun," Sherlock retorted childishly. John chuckled, knowing that his new friend was most certainly not going to stop any time soon.

"I bet you I can out-show-off you," John challenged playfully. "Best performance in class tomorrow."

"You're on."

John and Sherlock were grinning at each other, Ron and Harry exchanging looks of horror, knowing that this was going to be interesting.

**Also, on a note that will be taken into place later on in this series (because I'm going to hopefully do all seven books. Yea, big commitment for you guys. And me), do people like Rose or not? I'm just tossing up between two plot directions, and it'd be nice to know. Also, sorry that this chapter is a little slow; I just wanted to get a heap of fictitious, non-cannon history out of the way. And I should also say that I have quite a few assignments and musical commitments at the moment, so updates may slow down a bit. But do not fear!**


	4. Contest

**As always, I shall start with answering reviews. A big thank you to all of you who've bothered to read and review, or even just follow this story. Nothing makes me more pleased than feedback or knowing people actually like what I write**

**10-11thDoctorLove: Thank you! I am still a little bit nervous about writing Sherlock's friendships - he's hard to predict, and I am always afraid I am writing him OOC. But thank you! And I am quite pleased with Sherlock's history. I'm still a little on the fence with Rose, but I think she'll make at least a reference, if not an appearance.**

**RRW: Don't worry, I fully plan on utilising the Hogwarts community. It's working up to quite a few Hogwarts relationships, just not quite yet. And I am going to have Luna in this series eventually... spoilers**

**Jellybaby: I hope I've kept the chemistry up in this chapter... it's a bit more dialogue heavy, but I'm hoping it's still keeping in general character. And I'll keep that in mind - like I've said, I've got a point where it will go one of two ways, so it's still in planning stages**

****Anonymous: Thank you! And spoilers... but there will be at least a bit more interaction between the Hogwarts trio as the story goes on.  
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The breakfast table was alive with chatter as Sherlock and John came down. Nobody seemed to notice as the two first year Gryffindors sat down next to each other, grabbing some food without comment. There were slight words passed between them, but mostly they sat in comfortable silence, neither of them seeming to want to break it. The first challenge begins.

They finished their food and headed off to their first class; charms. The teacher, Professor Flitwick, was a midget of a man. He stood atop a couple of books to see over the top of his desk, smiling at all the first years as they came in. They took their seats and he began teaching, telling them that they'd first have to do levitation charms.

"Now it's a swish and a flick," he told them. John grinned at Sherlock, and did the required movement.

"Wingardium leviosa," he said confidently. The feather he and Sherlock were sharing rose up, Sherlock glaring at him ever so slightly as Flitwick praised him. Determined not to be outdone and sitting on the other side of the room, Hermione Granger took out her wand and repeated the instruction. Her feather rose as well. Sherlock decided to take it a step further, levitating all his text books. Flitwick looked slightly startled as John matched his friend, keeping his feather afloat while raising the one next to him. Hermione retaliated, raising most of the classroom's. Sherlock added more books. John levitated everything he could see. Pretty soon everything in the class was floating, apart from the students and their chairs.

Their professor looked like he was deciding if he should be annoyed or pleased. He was most certainly smiling when he gently scolded them and told them to put everything down. There was a thud as everything fell into it's right position.

"Well, I'll say that's a marvelous display from three of our Gryffindor students. Perhaps a bit enthusiastic, but skilled all the same. Twenty points!"

John and Sherlock were glaring at each other, knowing that there wasn't really a clear winner. Hermione was looking quite pleased to have kept up with both John and Sherlock. The rest of the class just looked a little startled and off put.

"This competition isn't going to end well, is it?" Ron whispered to Harry, noticing Hermione looking annoyed at the two boys.

* * *

><p>Transfiguration happened a little more subtly than charms. After being told that it was a hard subject, Professor McGonagall set them to turning matchsticks into needles. Once again, John and Sherlock were competing.<p>

"Done," John grinned, holding up a perfect needle. McGonagall swept over to their desk, studying John's work.

"Very nicely done, Mr. Smith. Perhaps you'd like to try something a little more difficult?"

A second later there was a call from across the room. "Professor, I have done it, too!"

Then "And me, too."

Nobody needed to guess who was speaking. John, Sherlock and Hermione were all sitting there, their perfect needles on their desks. There was a slight eyebrow raising from their teacher, but no comments were passed apart from instructions to move on to transforming larger things.

* * *

><p>No real agreement had been reached between John and Sherlock. Although John argued that he was quicker, Sherlock complained that it was simply because he was rushing. They argued for most of lunch, the pair of them. One of the things that popped up was Hermione Granger.<p>

"I told you she was a showoff. Memorised half the text book. Slightly sad, really."

John smiled slightly. "You're just jealous that she's beating you."

"She is not beating me."

"She is."

"She's not."

"She is."

"She's not. I am quite clearly a more competent person in the way of charms and transfiguration and general all roundness. I just cannot be bothered."

"Sure."

* * *

><p>History of magic was possibly the only class that John and Sherlock didn't compete in. John took the occasional note in it, while Sherlock complained softly to him that he was bored, before doing a run down on all the student's histories. John systematically ignored him.<p>

When the class ended, everyone left with speed. They all headed out into the corridors and down the stairs to the dungeons in which they had potions. There were Slytherins as well as Gryffindors in this class, and as John entered next to Sherlock he noted that almost all of them were glaring at his friend. Still, they both walked in with confidence, taking their seats as their Professor, Snape, walked into the room. He gave a long winded lecture about potion making, before he noticed Harry Potter.

There was a look on his face that suggested hatred. He glared at the boy, walking up to him.

"Let's see how much you know. What would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry looked a bit uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, while Hermione's hand flew into the air. John remembered Sherlock commenting that she was eager to impress. It seemed to be true as her hand waved, Harry looking even more mortified. "I... I don't know sir."

Snape sneered. "I thought not. How about this one... Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

The process repeated once more. Harry seemed to sink further and further into his seat, while Hermione seemed to come out of hers more. "I...I don't know, sir."

"Hm. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry's emotions seemed to change a little as Hermione basically jumped out of her seat. "I don't know, but Hermione obviously does. Why don't you ask her?"

Sherlock closed his eyes at that comment. Snape's lip curled.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek. And miss Granger, sit down. You look like an idiot. For your information, if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood I would get a sleeping potion so powerful that it is called the draught of living death. A bezoar is a stone that is plucked out of a goats stomach. And monkshood and wolfsbane are both the same root. Why aren't you all writing this down?"

John noticed Harry and Ron complaining, and Hermione looking slightly heartbroken at this. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Snape wasn't a big bundle of laughs. Soon he was commanding them to make potions. And while John and Sherlock still competed to do better, neither of them showed off like they had been doing. They worked in silence as they made their potions. Both of them were around about the right consistency, looking like the book said they should. Still, John wasn't entirely confident with it. It was telling him to stir it clockwise, then counter-clockwise, then clockwise again. However, he got the feeling that he should stir it twice counterclockwise, thrice clockwise, once counterclockwise and then once clockwise. He changed his pattern, and the potions changed. It was becoming more smooth, a crystal-like clearness coming over it. John grinned as it began to become rose tinted like the book said, looking over at Sherlock. That took the wind out of his sails - no matter how good his potion was, it couldn't compare to Sherlock's. It was exactly as the book said it should look.

The class ended and both John and Sherlock bottled up their potions. While John's was quite good, it was nothing compared to Sherlock's. And apart from Hermione, nobody's potion came anywhere near theirs in quality. Sherlock was grinning and about to gloat when a pale, thin boy with a slightly pinched face approached them.

"Hello, Holmes," he hissed hatefully. Sherlock's slightly casual stance that he had when talking to John changed. He didn't quite stiffen, but he drew himself up, turning slowly and threateningly.

"Malfoy," ha drawled in return, looking rather calm. "I hear Arthur Weasley found a bunch of hidden dark artifacts under your floorboards. I bet that didn't do well for your father's reputation."

The pale boy looked livid. "I know it was you who told him."

"Really? And how is it that I was somehow able to know this? I do not make a habit of looking under people's floorboards."

Malfoy seemed to be a bit put out. "You did your thing!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "My... thing. Eloquent as always, Malfoy."

Malfoy balled his fists, and John quickly slipped in between him and Sherlock, knowing how this would probably end. He held his hands up, flat palmed, holding them apart. "Don't."

It was directed more to Sherlock than Malfoy, but neither really noticed. Malfoy tried to lunge at Sherlock, but John grabbed him and, in an extraordinary display of strength, shoved him against the wall, pinning him there, giving both Sherlock and Malfoy a look.

"When I said don't, I meant it."

He let go of Malfoy, who took a frightened gasp. "You've chosen wrong, siding with this freak."

**And there we go! I hope you like this chapter - I had a lot of fun writing it, but I'm not entirely sure I pulled it off as well as I thought I did. As always, reviews are loved, and I shall try to update soon!**


	5. This is Gallifrey

**siriuslyholly: I don't think you can go wrong with a Potter/Who story! Especially with Sherlock thrown in. And thanks, but it's still a work in progress! ****And I'm glad you like the pairing... I'm not entirely sure about them getting together, but some tension may occur... Sherlock must have a thing for Johns! And I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!**

**10-11thDoctorLove: I'm sticking quite a bit to the original Harry Potter plotline, but I shall be sure to have some extra confrontations between Malfoy and Sherlock for you!**

**RRW: Trust me, it's on the way! And Ron is an idiot. I am going to have a bit of fun with changing characters; I'm both a psychology and an English student, so I'm kinda using this as a way to investigate character and personality development with regards to friends, because I am a study nerd.**

After the first day, John and Sherlock called an almost truce. The pair were evenly matched; Sherlock was better in potions, but John was better at herbology. Both of them excelled in wand work and could manage the theory. The pair of them were already considered geniuses by the rest of their year. Well, them and Hermione Granger. The three of them were constantly out-performing the rest of the class, despite their varies learning approaches and attitudes.

Hermione was eager to prove her worth, to show that she could do everything that was asked of them. She wanted to impress, to be noticed, and to be praised. John, on the other hand, did things simply to learn and understand. He would easily comprehend the topic and ask questions, always hungry for more knowledge, wanting to push himself further and further. He was always fascinated by the smallest things, wanting to know the little intricate details of magic. Sherlock was completely and utterly different again. He was intelligent, and he learnt things easily. He, however, didn't bother with things that did not capture his interest. He was easily bored with simpler topics, and constantly insulted people's intelligence in a rude and brash way as he showed off.

Their first astrology class was to take place a couple of days into term. They were to get up at one o'clock in the morning, get dress, and head up to the tower for stargazing and classes. Fortunately, the time-tables had worked out that they had their introduction to flying as the only other class that day. Quite a few people had claimed they'd skip their first class if they were too tired. Of course, this group didn't include Sherlock and John. Both boys didn't seem to think of sleep as a necessity. They treated it more as an option, something to be done if they really felt like it. Oddly enough, both seemed perfectly able to function on barely an hour of sleep. So none of their year were surprised when the came down to the common room, bleary eyed, and found the two boys sitting there playing wizard chess. Sherlock was sitting back straight, frown in place, as he considered the bored, while John smiled cheekily, chin resting on knees.

Of course, the hike up to the astronomy tower made many people a little grumpy, none more than Sherlock. While John smiled, looking forwards to the lesson and almost running up the stairs, Sherlock grumbled.

"I don't get why we need to know the positions of the stars. It seems so pointless," he complained to John. John shook his head at his friend's selective knowledge.

"It's fascinating. And beautiful."

Sherlock scoffed at his friend's statement.

* * *

><p>The class started, with everyone ordered to get their telescopes and set them up. John picked up a brass one and set it up, pointing it at the sky. He adjusted it with instinct that he didn't remember gaining, before looking through it at the night sky and the bright, burning lights. All at once, things came to his head. What the stars were made of, how far away they were, their names and their co-ordinates. He could tell which were dead and which still lived on, he knew where they all were, but he had no clue how that knowledge had been acquired. He frowned, pointing his telescope at an odd section of the sky and once again knowing all the names.<p>

"Sir," Dean Thomas, a fellow Gryffindor, called out, "what's that blank space there?"

John was startled out of his own telescope. He wondered which blank space his classmate meant, and had a burning desire to know. He was thinking of leaving it, but curiosity got the better of him. "Can I see?"

The other boy have him the telescope and he peered through it. Somehow, he knew that there was nothing there. You could peer all you wanted, for whatever distance, but that was just blank space. A hole, a rip in time and space.

"It's the time lock."

He didn't even really know what he was saying, but he knew with utter conviction that he was right. "Located at galactic coordinates ten-zero-eleven-zero-zero by zero-two from galactic zero centre. It was one of the main sites of the Last Great Time War. Gallifrey... burned. It burned bright and fast and then it was gone, leaving just the dead space, the gaping hole where the most mighty race in the entire galaxy once lived."

His hands were beginning to shake. He knew it all, he could see it. These facts, these figures, flying out at him from everywhere yet nowhere. Flashed of memories; smoke and burning and death and destruction. They were all flying to the fore-front of his mind. "The daleks were too strong, and we were loosing so was nothing I could do. I had to... I burned it. I killed them all. The daleks and the Time Lords. But there was no other way, I swear. So many had already died, and I couldn't... I wouldn't... there was no choice..."

The eleven year old was crying, shaking, looking pale and sweaty as he began to whisper in a language nobody had ever heard before. Nobody was entirely sure what to do; Sherlock was staring at his friend, brow furrowed, as if once again trying to figure him out. He was standing stock still, not taking off that calculating look as everyone else stood slightly still around him.

"Mr Thomas," the teacher said softly, "would you mind taking Mr. Smith to the hospital wing? I'm sure Madame Pomfrey has a calming draft somewhere."

Dean nodded and walked up to John, gently taking his arm and leading him down to the hospital wing. The pair of them exited the class and it was like everyone breathed out. Eyes turned to Sherlock, who was still frowning, brain processing everything.

"He's a bit creepy," Lavender Brown whispered to her friend Pavarti. "He didn't even move a muscle to help his friend."

**Bit of an angsty chapter, sorry. And a short one. I preferred that ending to continuing on to the next chapter. But don't worry, I shall update ASAP!**


	6. Flight

**Once again, I shall start by answering these much loved reviews**

**RRW: It is a PotterWhoLock. Harry Potter, Doctor Who, and Sherlock... just think about it. Or (re-)watch series 2-4 of Doctor Who.**

**puddingflaun: Continuing with much vigorance is exactly what I plan to do! Thank you!**

****A HP Sherlock Fan: Aye, Doctor Who is most certainly going to slowly become bigger and bigger and bigger as a part of the plot****

Of course, whispers followed Sherlock all the way back to the Gryffindor common room. He was, apparently, a cold and heartless bastard. He was just like his parents and the rest of his family, only using people for his own purposes. Sherlock didn't make any retorts, didn't comment at all. He simply ignored all the jibes and all the whispers and sat down by the fireplace, staring into the burning logs and light, still lost in thought. Eventually all the first years went off to bed, leaving Sherlock to think on his own. He every now and then would get up and pace, muttering things to himself, before plonking himself back into the chair. When breakfast rolled around, he still didn't get out of the chair. Only when it was time for their flying lesson did Sherlock get up, and that was only because he had reached some sort of conclusion.

Sherlock walked all alone out onto the grass, noting the brooms. He could see the better quality ones, and the worse ones. Madame Hooch commanded them to go and line up next to their brooms, and all of them did. Then they all began to command the brooms to rise. A little way down, Harry Potter's broom flew into his hand as he commanded it.

"Up," Sherlock sighed, sounding bored. If brooms could be lethargic, the broom Sherlock had chosen was. It slowly rose into Sherlock's hand, like it was just as bored as it's rider.

"Now, mount your brooms! On my whistle, push off the ground. Three, two..."

Neville Longbottom pushed off the ground, panicking. Sherlock could see him loosing control of his broom, about to connect with a spire on the school. As Neville began to fall, Sherlock pulled out his wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Neville's decent stopped as he began to rise again. Sherlock flicked his wand and safely guided him to the ground, dropping him down gently.

"Show-off," Draco Malfoy sneered.

"I think he broke his shoulder when he hit the spire," Sherlock stated, ignoring Malfoy. Madame Hooch shook her head.

"I'll take him to the hospital wing. If anyone leaves the ground, they'll be expelled faster than they can say Quiddich."

"I'll come with you. I need to see John, anyway."

Madame Hooch and Sherlock helped Neville up, both of them helping him to the hospital wing, once again in silence. Sherlock Holmes wasn't someone normal people started a conversation with. There were no comments on his quick thinking, or his conclusion, simply silence until they reached the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey quickly swooped on poor Neville, tutting over his shoulder. Sherlock slipped past her and found where his acquaintance was sitting up his his bed, fidgeting, brown eyes looking everywhere for something to end the boredom. Sherlock knew the feeling.

"You're impossible. A real puzzle." No hello, no how are you. Simply down to business.

"What have you concluded?"

"What makes you think I've reached a conclusion?"

John gave him a grin. "I know you. I have a breakdown in class, your brain starts whirring. Of course you are generating things like that. And if you were to be dropping in on a social visit, you would have done so ages ago. No, you were trying to solve something in regards to me, and now you've reached a conclusion. You're not the only smart person in the world. So, out with it."

Sherlock remembered why he was so drawn to this strange kid.

"You're either a nut case with biological issues or you're an alien. And I don't think either of them quite fits. Because if you did have the biological issue of two hearts as a natural occurrence, your body temperature wouldn't be what it was. But aliens... that's so unlikely."

"Once you've eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Sherlock smiled. "That's what I usually say."

"Well, there is a reason we're friends."

Friends. Such an odd concept to Sherlock. He'd never had friends, or acquaintances, or anything. He didn't know anyone at all, and he'd never minded. But now that John was referring to him as a friend, Sherlock realised it was the truth. He had made an unlikely friend. And it scared him a bit.

* * *

><p>Sherlock skipped dinner to chat with John, both of them discussing different mysteries. They'd both found this article in the daily prophet about a Gringots break in and were both intrigued. Sherlock was smart, but there was only so much he could extrapolate from the tiny article. John agreed that it was strange, especially when Sherlock said that Hogwarts was probably one of the safest locations in the wizarding world.<p>

"Well, maybe it's here! Whatever it is, they could have moved it to be safer," John said in hushed, excited tones. Madame Pomfrey walked behind them and went up to Neville, and a couple of seconds later he was leaving. John knew that chances were he and Sherlock would have to leave soon, too. Sure enough, she came over a second later.

"You seem to be recovering. You two should head back to your common room," she told them. They both nodded and stood, Sherlock not offering any help to John, and John not asking. That was simply their way, and while others thought it was rude, neither parties complained. Well, not about that, anyway. John, however, did have something else on his mind.

"Do you think that there'll still be food at the great hall? I really feel like a banana. Or a cupcake. Or just general cake."

Sherlock grinned at him. "I can do one better. I've figured out where the kitchens are, and Mycroft says that the house elves are always willing to help."

The two boys changed their direction, heading down to where the kitchens were. Sherlock frowned when he reached the painting of the fruit bowl, noticing various things. Mainly, the slight line of finger prints over the pear. He reached forwards and stroked it, until the pear began to laugh and turned into a door handle. He grinned at John before pushing it open.

Sherlock smiled a rare, genuine and non manic smile, as he watched John's face. He looked confused and astounded by the funny looking creatures before him, eyes flickering from one to the other as they all began to notice him. One of the slightly braver elves came up to them with a beaming smile.

"Hello, sirs! Can we help you in any way?"

Since John was looking around with wide eyes, Sherlock answered instead.

"Do you have any food for my friend here? He missed dinner."

Almost instantly, elves appeared with food that they presented to John. The boy smiled at them, his kind brown eyes lighting up as he gently took the food they held. Bananas, a little bit of meat, some other things.

"Thank you," he said. The creatures bowed and shuffled off as John and Sherlock left with the food.

"You're always so polite," Sherlock commented. John shrugged his shoulders.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because they're just house elves."

"They have a mind, they have feelings. I do not see why I would be anything but polite to them."

Sherlock got the feeling that this was much like the wonder that John saw in the world. Something that he would never quite be able to understand.

**Apologies for the slight bridging chapter, but I needed a lead up to the next section. Keep reading and reviewing!**


	7. Trap Doors

**RRW: Yea, I am just getting to it. But this chapter is certainly getting into the Potter environment. **

**10-11thDoctorLove****: Thank you!**

**puddingflaun**** Yea... half of my idea for this story is how cute the Doctor would be as an eleven year old. Sh...**

**crazymacky****: I like keeping small chapters which I update frequently over long chapters which I update once every week or so. I wouldn't have enough time to do a long chapter and post frequently**

**Isabella101**** :He didn't control Neville's broom, he simply stopped Neville colliding with the ground as fast as he would have. Because I think Sherlock would be quicker than Madame Hooch when it comes to that. And I think that Sherlock would be the sort of stubborn kid who refuses to not say Voldemort. He doesn't really fear anything.**

**TheIcecreamGeek**** :Sherlock totally has a John fetish! And he's kinda remembered some things. It's...complicated**

"You're going to get us all in trouble."

"Oh, shut up, Hermione. You didn't have to come."

John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. They'd decided to eat dinner in a small room they'd found instead of heading up to the common room, but they'd spent more time than they had expected there. It was now close to midnight, and there was a certain tense silence, broken only by the hisses of their words. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John, who nodded ever so slightly. Without a word, they followed the hushed argument.

"You know," Sherlock said in a low, quiet voice, making Ron, Hermione, Harry and Neville jump, "sneaking out is a lot simpler when you bother to keep silent."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ron asked rudely, looking supremely annoyed. He and Sherlock had never really gotten on too well, and they both treated each other with disdain.

"Me and John were heading back to the common room when we heard you arguing. You're not very good at keeping your voices down."

Ron gave him a grumpy look, but didn't argue. Hermione rolled her eyes at them both. "These idiots have decided to have a midnight duel. I think it's a trap."

"Hermione, we all know what you think," Ron hissed back, sounding irritated. Sherlock gave a slight tut.

"You should listen to her more, you know. She's one of the only people in this school who has half a brain."

Ron looked as if he were about to throw himself at Sherlock in fury. Both Harry and John saw this, and they slid between them.

"Don't."

Even if he didn't listen to Harry, small whispers had spread of John's strength when he pushed Malfoy away from Sherlock. The pair of them back off, looking sourly at each other. You could cut the tension with a knife.

"Guys," Neville suddenly whimpered. They all turned to see Mrs. Norris, her lamp like eyes focused on them. They froze as she suddenly stalked off.

"We should get out of here," Harry whispered. They could hear footsteps, and Filch's wheezing as he walked. The six of them set off at a run, none of them really paying attention to anything. Well, none but maybe Sherlock. They ducked through corridors, over and under things, until they reached a locked door. There was a glint in Sherlock's eyes which John knew meant trouble, but he didn't comment as Hermione unlocked the door and they ran in.

A growl sounded, and the five boys and one girl turned and looked up. There, standing rather tall, was a three headed dog. John's eyes widened as he looked up in wonder.

"Oh, you are beautiful."

Sherlock's eyes were darting around, taking in everything in the room. There was another silent, tense moment, before the dog growled again and everyone ran.

The trip to the common room seemed less eventful, and when they all made it through the fat lady portrait they allowed themselves to relax.

"What the hell are they doing, keeping something like that in a school," Ron asked, shaky and breathless.

"Use your brain. Didn't you see what it was standing on?" Sherlock asked with contempt.

"A trap door. And I must say, I told you two that it was a bad idea."

"Shut up, Hermione."

"No, Ron, you shut up."

"Both of you."

Harry's voice cut through with authority. "Think about it, Ron. Whatever Hagrid removed from Gringotts, the thing that was meant to be stolen. What if that's where it is?"

Sherlock's interest was suddenly there as he listened, his brain obviously processing this new information. "You know, Harry, you actually have a little bit of intelligence there."

"You are a complete and utter prick, Sherlock," Ron told him. He was still quite jealous of Sherlock's fame and intelligence, and irritated about how Sherlock could read him like a book. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge the insult, simply going through everything he'd learnt.

"Okay, so there's something hidden in Hogwarts. Something that a very powerful wizard or witch wants. Obviously given by someone close to the school and with relation to Dumbledore. And I doubt Hagrid's dog is the only thing guarding whatever it is. But what could it be?"

He was pacing up and down, never stopping. John watched with a curious gaze, while Hermione seemed grumpy, glaring at them all, while Harry once more seemed impressed.

"How do you know the dog was Hagrid's?" he asked curiously. Sherlock didn't even bother to insult his intelligence.

"Who else would own a giant three headed dog?"

"Whoever's dog it is, it is none of our business. I am going to bed," Hermione declared, storming off. The boys watched her go.

"I think I'm going to bed, too," Neville said softly, picking himself up and leaving. Only Harry, Ron, Sherlock and John remained. There was a tense silence between Sherlock and Ron, while John looked off into the distance, probably thinking. Harry was looking quite concerned about the looks Ron and Sherlock were shooting each other.

"I think we should go to bed, too, Ron," Harry said softly. After a last glare, Ron nodded and followed. Sherlock and John stood on their own in silence for quite some time.

"What did you remember?"

Sherlock's question was more softly spoken than John had ever heard it. It wasn't probing, and very unlike Sherlock in his tone.

"I...I don't know. Just a place. A bright, burning planet. And pain and fire and grief, and that's it."

His hands quivered ever so slightly, wondering if it was his memory. His own past, with the pain and rage and fire. To John's eternal surprise, Sherlock hesitantly patted him on the back. It was the single most awkward pat, but a pat all the same. A sign of affection. Something so unlike Sherlock.

"I think I'm scared, Sherlock. What is I was terrible? What if that's my whole life? Scared of my own past, ha!"

There were slight tears in John's eyes, slight fear. Sherlock looked supremely awkward again, wishing someone else was there. Harry, Ron, Hermione, even Neville, would be better than him when it came to comforting his own friend. But he was on his own.

"There's no point in fearing the unavoidable," he simply stated. John nodded, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. Sherlock pretended not to notice them, knowing that it wasn't really something John would like noticed.

"Besides, we have another mystery now."

**I know, this chapter is slightly late and slightly dodgy. I've been busy. Also, would people complain if I change the story's name? Keep reading and reviewing**


	8. Hallowe'en

**I am so sorry; I have barely had time this week to update. Between musical, basketball and schoolwork, I've been up until two AM every morning this week trying to keep up. But here we have a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it! It's short, I know, but I wanted to give you something. And I'm sticking to both cannon and changing it, so sorry if my cannon bits are a bit slow...**

**Anyway, onto reviews!**

**RRW: I'm sorry, I have a friend in the ranga appreciation society who says she will stone me if I kill him off... plus, he's good. There needs to be more balance. And I do quite like Ron. Each to their own.**

**CSI Burrell: Thanks! Glad you like it!**

**Fantasy-Mania31: Thank you! I'm glad you think it's good!**

The term wasn't quite flying by, but it certainly wasn't going slowly. Before anyone had quite registered it, the castle was being decorated for Hallowe'en. Hermione was working harder in class, ignoring Ron, Harry, Sherlock and John while consistently achieving well in class. John and Sherlock were talking about what could be hidden under the trap door, both their minds wandering to the forbidden corridor. The curiosity began to almost itch. Sherlock wasn't even bragging that he was making more links than John due to his magical heritage - the want for information was stopping even that.

It wasn't until Hallowe'en night that anything new came to light. The days had been so dull that Sherlock and John had been half-planning on going back to the forbidden corridor to take another look, see if they could get anything else out of it. Because right now, it was an inch that Sherlock couldn't quite scratch, and John knew that it was annoying him. It frustrated John, too, but not to the same extent. Sherlock seemed to be being consumed by the curiosity. He always tapped his fingers when he was annoying, drumming them on the table when he was bored. John recognised the pattern as Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Every time. And right now it was once again being tapped. John looked down the table for something to distract his friend with.

"I wonder where Hermione's gone. I haven't seen her since charms."

"I think she finally snapped. She's probably in..."

Exactly where she was, John wouldn't find out for much later, for at that moment the door to the great hall slammed open and Professor Quirrel came in, yelling.

"There's a troll! Troll in the dungeons!"

And then he sunk to the floor in what was apparently a dead faint. Both Sherlock and John exchanged looks. They were both thinking the same thing.

"Third floor," Sherlock whispered as all the teachers began to hurry them to the common rooms. They both noticed Ron and Harry whispering, and half wondered if the two boys had reached the same conclusion. Still, it wasn't really their business, and they only had a small period of time to get away. The very second McGonagall turned her back, Sherlock and John slipped away. Silent and effortless, sticking to the shadows.

"That troll... it's just a diversion. I'd bet you that anyone who wants to get through that trap door will choose tonight to strike," Sherlock whispered.

"Yea, I kinda figured that out myself," John hissed back.

So they ran up to the third floor silently, making sure not to get caught. It didn't take them long to reach the door. Sherlock and John carefully pushed open the door, slipping past the, thankfully sleeping, three headed dog to stand in the corner, wands out and on high alert in the shadows. They watched in silence, both hardly daring to breath, waiting for their thief. And soon they were rewarded as Professor Snape slipped in. Sherlock's brow furrowed as Snape didn't attempt to force his way past the giant sleeping dog. He and John looked at each other, silently communicating questions and theories as Snape stood in a similar posture to them, alert with his wand out.

There was a tense silence for quite some time. Snape hadn't noticed them, and he didn't seem to want to force his way through the door. Maybe they were all wrong, and the troll was just a coincidence. An accident.

It wasn't. They could hear footsteps, the sound of someone hurrying. The door opened, and a shadowy figure appeared. John strained his eyes, trying to make out who it was. However, he didn't get a chance as the dog awoke with a roar. The new figure scampered, and Snape turned in a startled manner towards the large beast's snapping jaws.

"Professor!" John yelled, hoping to snap him out of it. When Snape didn't move, John came running forwards from his hiding spot and shoved Snape out of the way. This effectively snapped Snape out of it. The Professor grabbed John by the collar, pulling him out of the room and almost missing Sherlock as he bolted out behind them both, slamming the door after him.

"Do you have a death wish?" the young boy asked John, looking annoyed. To John's surprise, he could see some fear there. Perhaps Sherlock had more of a heart than anyone gave him credit for. John couldn't help but smile in answer, shaking his head ever so slightly. Snape was glaring at both of them.

"What were you two doing there? This corridor is out of bounds."

"We were doing the same thing as you are - trying to figure out who let the troll in and making sure they don't steal whatever it's guarding. And we did just save your life."

Snape still glared at the pair of them, but to their surprise, he didn't instantly summon Dumbledore. "Go back to your common rooms. And don't come here ever again."

John and Sherlock didn't complain. They simply nodded and left.

* * *

><p>When they reached the common room, they were surprised to see Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting together. They had always complained that they couldn't stand each other. Sherlock's deft eyes picked up the traces of troll snot on Harry's wand and the bits of tile shards on their clothes. It didn't really take a genius to work out what had happened.<p>

"So, in just how much trouble did you guys get into from tackling a troll?" Sherlock asked, slipping down next to them.

"None of your business," Ron retorted rudely. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and Hermione sighed.

"I took the rap. I said it was me who let it in."

"But it wasn't."

"No, of course it wasn't. But who could have let it in?"

"Someone trying to steal whatever Hagrid's dog's guarding," Harry said with utter certainty. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come off it. Even if there was something valuable under there, there's no way anyone could get past that brute of a dog."

Sherlock gave him the look that John had classified as his _you're an idiot _look. "I question how you manage to get around in that brain of yours. People have managed to get past dragons and fight with some of the most dangerous creatures. I doubt that a giant three headed dog would stop everyone. And I have no doubt someone wants to steal whatever's down there."

Ron looked livid. His face was going as red as his hair, and his fists were curling. "How do you know that? I mean, do you want to steal it?"

"Why would I want to steal something when I quite clearly don't know what it is?"

"Well, that would be the clever thing to do. Pretend you don't know what it is, and then sneak down and steal it while everyone else is oblivious," Hermione pointed out. John noticed that Sherlock didn't seem to be quite as harsh to Hermione. He was almost smiling.

"intelligent. But I don't have a clue what it was, although that would be helpful. Find what it is, find who would care about it."

"Well, we know it's small," Harry said confidently. "Small and wanted. And whoever wants it must be powerful and desperate, because they did break into Gringots to get it."

There was silence as they all sat there, thinking. What could be that small, but that sought after? John wondered what he'd be that desperate to get his hands on.

_My memories._

That's what he wanted. To know. Maybe it was something small that granted wisdom, granted knowledge. But, then again, whoever stole it already had knowledge. What did normal people value?

"Maybe it has the power to resurrect the dead," Harry said softly. They all knew that that was what he'd want. What he'd find most valuable. Everyone seemed to mull it over. Ron spoke next.

"Maybe it has the power to make people immortal."

John shivered ever so slightly. "I think that would be horrible. Imagine living forever while everyone died around you. I couldn't imagine anything worse."

**And there we go! I shall update. As always, read and review, and I hope you enjoy it.**


	9. Nightmares

**New chapter! This one is kinda filler and Doctor-centric...**

**Silverurn****:Yea, he's meant to be a young 10th Doctor. This entire story takes place directly after _Last of the Time Lords_, but before Time Crash. I'm stealing some time there. Trust me, it shall all be beautifully explained.**

**puddingflaun:I'm not sure if I should be happy or sorry I broke your heart!**

_The humans were all scared. The Doctor couldn't blame them; he was scared too. Not that he'd ever show it. He needed to lead these people into battle, to win. Otherwise, Arcadia would fall and all would be lost. All these humans, all these Time Lords, all the diamonds that sparkled with gossamer glory paving the roads._

_A hand slipped into his own, a female one._

_"We'll survive, Doctor. I know we will."_

_He bit his lip, nervous, watching the sky. "So many of the rules have changed, Romana. The universe is beginning to fall apart at the seams. You saw what was happening."_

_"We shall deal with the war once we have finished the battle," she replied. The Doctor nodded, giving her hand one last squeeze before dropping it. He had his screwdriver in one hand, his wits about him, and an array of other weapons. None were directly lethal, but he knew how to fight with them. How to kill with them._

_The silence grew tense. They were all holding their breath, it seemed, waiting for the moment to come where the world would begin crashing down on top of them._

_And then there was the roar._

_The sky was filled with burning fire, the daleks coming quickly. The Doctor shouted an order in Gallifreyann, and the world began to start to move. The still silence evaporated as both sides began to charge. There was fighting, and screaming. Pain and suffering, all his fault. But he had to keep fighting, had to stay strong. The daleks didn't stand a change against him as he danced his deadly dance._

_He was going so well, leaving ruined daleks everywhere. So many creatures were slain by his hand, but there was more to come. For once more a roar sounded, and there was a creature. It was like a dark wisp of smoke, taking up the universe. It floated in, vaguely taking a form of snapping jaws and claws. It was huge, and fearsome. The sun stopped shining, and even the daleks stopped fighting._

I am the nightmare child.

_Everyone heard it, clear as day in their heads. And suddenly things began to happen. The world became dead, the grass wilting. Human flesh began to contract and melt, leaving behind nothing. The planet was black, skeletal trees where vibrance once stood. And even the Time Lords froze, watching in fear. The Doctor began to see things, things that only occured in his worst dreams. Deaths and sorrow and parting. Everything that had happened. The previous days of the war. Everything bad that had ever happened, all warped. But he knew it was false. He was on Arcadia, and he knew he had to fight._

_Once again a roar sounded, and he came back to the oddity that was reality. The nightmare child was once again opening it's mouth, screaming it's hate. And the Doctor seemed to be the only one moving. Even the daleks stopped._

_He saw his chance. They weren't winning, but they sure as hell weren't done yet. He grabbed his weapons again, ready to run at the daleks and slaughter._

_And then he stopped. It occurred to him he didn't have to do this. He didn't have to kill. What was this thing, but a festering beast of imagination. He stood, head held high, and began to laugh. He laughed like a lunatic - he was beginning to question if he was one or not. He knew that he was so very, very breakable, but right now he was invincible. He could feel some semblance of power raging._

_"I SHALL NOT DIE TODAY!" he yelled, before once more he laughed in the grave of the planet. Nobody else was aware, nobody else conscious. He was alone, even as Romana stared off into the distance. He laughed once more into the nightmare child's face._

_'EXTERMINATE!'_

_The Doctor's mirth died. He wasn't alone, no. There was a dalek. And it had just killed._

_"Romana," he whispered. The Time Lady was lying on the ground, gasping. He ran over to her, seeing her eyes fill with pain. "No... Romana!"_

_She attempted a smile, but it was strained. He stared at her, feeling her pulse quicken. "I'm...I'm dying. Thank Rassailon I am dying. No more of this war."_

_"No. No! You're not dying! You're not! You can't!"_

_"Promise me one thing, Doctor. One thing. You will survive."_

_"Only if you'll be with me."_

_She simply smiled, before her hearts stopped. and the Doctor held her, screaming and crying in the ashes as Arcadia fell around him._

"John. JOHN!"

He struggled against the rough hands shaking him awake, afraid. They were going to kill him, now. He knew it. He knew it from the depths of his heart that he was dead. The daleks, or the Nightmare Child. They were going to get him.

"NO! You can't kill me! I promised her! I promised!" he screeched, his young voice twisted as he fought against whoever was holding him.

"John, it's me. It's Sherlock. Now wake up!"

John snapped his eyes open, and it all came crashing back. He wasn't some fearsome warrior standing alone on a fallen planet. No, he was just an eleven year old child who didn't know his past. He was at Hogwarts, and right now there were six pairs of eyes staring at him. He felt his cheeks grow slightly warm under their gazes.

"Did I wake you?"

Seamus laughed. Ron was looking slightly put out.

"Wake us? You were screaming your bloody head off. Of course you woke..."

"Shut up."

The harsh snap was from Sherlock. When Ron went to open his mouth and complain again, the skinny young boy hushed him. "I cannot deal with your idiocy at this time in the morning," he told him. The ginger frowned but complied, rolling onto and into bed. John scrambled to sit up, seeing that Sherlock was actually sitting on the side of his bed, his blue eyes slightly wide. "Are you okay?"

"Yea, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare."

He rubbed his eyes in a combination of exhaustion and annoyance. Most of the other boys simply gave him a last look, before rolling over to sleep. Sherlock, however, stayed still. His eerie blue eyes bore into John's, and he once again wondered what conclusion the boy was making.

"I doubt you want to go back to sleep," Sherlock said. John nodded, and Sherlock jumped up, taking John's hand. "Well, come on. We can talk in the common room."

John allowed himself to be pulled off his bed and dragged to the common room. Not even the remains of last night's fire was there. Sherlock pointed his wand at the hearth.

"Incendio."

The fire crackled to life, and John and Sherlock sat on two chairs in front of it, warming up. They were silent for quite some time, just sitting. Eventually, Sherlock got up and grabbed something. A deep blue book of parchment and a plain but sturdy quill. He handed them to John.

"Write down all your dreams and nightmares. Everything that you remember. Then we can begin to piece it together. All your memories, your past."

John nodded, looking over the things. While they were quite plain, he recognised the blue. The box from his dream. He gently began to draw on the cover, making it look like his dreams. The big blue box. And while Sherlock curled up on his seat, resting his head on the arm rest, John simply scratched away.

* * *

><p>The next morning all the boys were treating John like a time bomb. Even Ron and Harry, to whom Sherlock and John had become quite close to in the month since the troll, were treating him oddly, being supremely polite in their manners. Finally, Hermione had had enough of the tense silence.<p>

"Okay. What the hell is going on?" she asked. Harry and Ron looked uncomfortable. John half wished Sherlock was there, but he knew what his friend was like. He'd found out that someone had stolen some kid's shoe, and he was determined to find the culprit.

"Nothing. I just had a bad dream last night."

Ron scoffed into his plate of food. "Trust me, bad dream is an understatement. You should've heard yourself. I don't think I've ever heard anyone scream like that in my life - not even when mum's going off at Fred and George."

"I think you may be over exaggerating a bit there, Ron. I don't see what you're getting all worked up about," Hermione said briskly.

"I'm not over exaggerating! It was one of the scariest things I've heard in my whole life."

"It was pretty impressive, Hermione," Harry told her. Hermione simply rolled her eyes.

"Idiots."


	10. Nicholas Flamel

**THIS STORY NOW HAS A NEW NAME! COMPLAIN TO ME IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT AND I SHALL CHANGE IT BACK, BUT FOR NOW IT IS OF TIME LORDS, DETECTIVES AND PHILOSOPHER STONES**

**RRW: Ron has his uses. Mainly, to balance with Harry. Because while Harry is rather smart, his intellect isn't as grand as Sherlock, John and Hermione's, so he'd probably feel a tad swamped**

**Wholock-fan: I will be keeping main plot points. However, not entirely**

**Anyway, I should just get on writing. This is very Sherlock orientated**

Sherlock was getting frustrated. Since the troll incident, no new evidence had come to light about what was under the trap door and who may want to steal it. There was only three weeks until the Christmas holidays, and he knew that there was a chance something exciting would come to light during them. He, however, would not be there, as his brother had just managed to buy a new property and insisted that Sherlock spent Christmas with family.

As if Mycroft ever did that.

Once getting accepted into Hogwarts, Mycroft Holmes had risen in the ranks. Within a week he was rather well known and topping all of his classes. His spell work was impeccable, as were his manners and his social skills. The perfect student, his parents had always grinned. The first two years, he'd come home like a good boy, showing off his new skills and talking excitedly about all his adventures. Then his parents had died, and Mycroft and Sherlock had been moved to their closest relative - a distant aunt with no magical powers. Mycroft rarely came home for holidays after that, leaving Sherlock at home all on his own. And now he was insisting that he come home. Hypocrite.

Sherlock grabbed a piece of parchment and scrawled a note back to his brother.

_I'll only come if I can bring a friend._

Deciding not to go to breakfast and having already found the kid's shoe with the Weasley twins, Sherlock went straight up to the owlery. Grabbing a beautiful barn owl, Sherlock fastened the letter onto the creature's leg and released it. Annoying Mycroft was always fun.

The letter sent, he simply began to look over the school grounds. People were going from one class to the other, all talking and gossiping. How simple they were. How nice it would be not to be him. Sometimes, intelligence was a curse. How people managed to simply roll through every day life was a mystery. Even Hermione, one of the smartest in their year, didn't have the same boredom issues as him. The same sight as him. If it weren't for John, Sherlock probably would have died of boredom by now. The other boy was not only a mystery, he was a genius. Someone with intellect and the ability to use it. He would see the world similar to Sherlock, keeping up with ease and even surpassing him. When it came to being social, John was skilled, and the other boy most certainly was better at seeing everything wonder. Sherlock rarely respected people, but he respected John. His first real friend.

People were beginning to change direction. Going from simply milling about to actually walking in directions. Time for class, then. Sherlock was getting very bored. Everyone was getting excited for the Quiddich match, but Sherlock could not care less about the sport. He didn't understand what people found so fascinating about people chucking balls to each other. It seemed rather dull to him. He was planning on skipping the match and taking the time to give the castle a proper explore. Apart from adventuring down to the kitchen, he hadn't gotten a look at the castle's secret passages, and he wanted to have found at least two by the end of this term.

* * *

><p>Harry was nervous. Sherlock could see it clearly in the way he stood, fidgeting, not eating despite other's advice. That was stressing the boy out more, as he pushed his food around his plate.<p>

"Don't worry about eating. I never eat while thinking - it slows me down. You'll be fine."

Next to Harry, John was eating with as much enthusiasm as he usually did. While he ate with quite a bit more grace than most of the students, he ate quickly. And lots. It had been barely fifteen minutes and the boy had already devoured three slices of toast, two bananas, a cookie, a danish, and he was nowhere near finished. While their sleeping and thinking patterns were symmetrical, their eating habits were complete opposites. Sherlock generally thought of food as a waste of time, and had more than once nearly collapsed from starvation. John, on the other hand, ate more than all the boys in their year combined. Harry still looked sick.

"You're just nervous," Hermione told him, matter of fact. Harry still looked like he'd just eaten something rotten. The rest of the Quidditch team began offering in their opinions, none too helpful. Sherlock got the feeling that Harry was relieved when it was time to head off to the pitch, and he wasn't the only one.

The school was odd when it was empty. Everyone, it seemed, was out watching the match. Everyone, it seemed, but Sherlock. Even John had decided to try watching the match, saying he'd never watched a sport played out before. Sherlock had waited for them to all leave before he exited the common room and began to wander around the school, seemingly aimlessly. But he could always see where there were secret passages - the fingerprints, the disruptions of the dust, the slight wear of a rock. Three minutes in, he came across a painting. There was a slightly old, friendly looking witch sitting in the picture, smiling at him gently. He could see the slight finger prints around her frame.

"There's a secret passageway behind you. Do I need anything special to get to it?"

The witch smiled at him and shook her head. "Oh, no, dear. I'm not like those other snobs. If you can see it, then you simply must ask. Unlike that pretentious Sir Lawrence. He refuses to let anyone through unless they can tell him his birth and death date. It's the fifteenth of August, 1674, until the nineteenth of May 1775."

Sherlock was almost bored with the witch's ramblings, but he took note of this Sir Lawrence as she swung open to reveal the passage.

"Thank you, Miss."

"It's Mrs. Mrs Hudson. And feel free to stop by if you need to talk - people barely ever come this way."

Sherlock nodded and set off through the passageway. It continued on for quite some time, rather dusty. Sherlock, however, could see footprints. Some of two boys, quite tall and fit judging by their footprints. Fred and George, most likely. There were a couple of others, but Sherlock doubted that more than six students knew this passage existed.

Pretty soon he'd reached the other side. He was standing outside the school building. Hagrid's hut was relatively close. He took note of this shortcut, before looking around. There were people milling about - the match was over. He wondered how long it had taken. Thoughts flew through his head, and he got the feeling he would be unable to find his friends in the common-room. More likely they were at Hagrid's.

Sure enough, when he knocked on the door they were all sitting there, drinking tea out of Hagrid's enormous mugs.

"How was the match?"

By the looks on their faces, he guessed something important. Judging by the fact that Harry's self confidence appeared to be in tact, Sherlock deduced they'd won. Something else had happened, though. He scrutinised them, trying to see it.

"Snape tried to curse Harry off his broom," Ron stated simply. Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow at John, who shrugged his shoulders.

"His broom started bucking madly, trying to throw him off. Snape was muttering. It's possible we may have missed something, and it doesn't really fit with previous evidence. I mean, why wouldn't he have forced entry on the night of the troll. He was there for long enough, and the dog was sleeping. I mean, he seems the type, but something's... missing. I mean, all of the teachers were watching, as well as students. They could have been doing a silent charm, or we could have missed them. Too many variables in a crowd that size."

Hagrid tutted, shaking his head. "You have to stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. What Fluffy's guarding is between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel!"

There was a pause, everyone looking at Hagrid. Sherlock's brain was instantly working furiously, trying to place to name. Surely he'd seen it before. Mycroft would know, at least. He completely ignored Hagrid's startled look and his commanding them out of the house. He doubted he would have moved if it weren't for John coming up to him.

"Come on. You can figure it out in the common room."

Sherlock allowed himself to be dragged away, his mind piecing together this new piece of puzzle.

**There! Ha, if only my English thesis was this easy... or exciting.**


	11. Christmas

**SORRY AGAIN! I really should get better time managment... I've had three assignments and I was up until three this morning doing them, and I wake up at six... so sorry for taking to long, and sorry if there are errors in it. But it's longer than usual!**

**CSI Burrell :That's good! I shall be keeping it, then...**

**Irony of Life Mach Two: Glad you're enjoying the story! And here's the update... took me a little while**

**KayTeeBeth: Thank you! Truth me told, I'm fascinated to see where it goes too... (I cannot plan to save my life)**

**TeEpicKiteh: I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult... but I shall continue! **

The final weeks of the school term flew by. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sherlock and John were all trying to figure out who Nicholas Flamel was. The holidays were drawing closer, and they all knew that their time would be limited. Hermione was going home for Christmas, as was Sherlock. When the form had come around for people who were staying at Hogwarts, Harry had instantly gone to write his name down, and Ron had joined him. John was going to write his name down, too, but Sherlock had looked up with those blue eyes.

"What are you doing? Didn't I tell you? You're staying with me and Mycroft."

It wasn't exactly giving him a chance to refuse, but John didn't mind. He thought that it would be fascinating to meet Sherlock's hardly mentioned older brother. And he wanted to see the magic world outside the four walls of his school.

They hadn't found Flamel by the time the holidays rolled around, and they all made parting promises to try and find out more in their respective holidays. Then Sherlock and John caught the train back to London, ready for their holiday. When they got to London station, there was a boy waiting for them. Seventeen years old, he was rather tall and pudgy, dressed in a very neat, muggle way. John recognised Mycroft. Even if he had never seen the man before, there was a certain air about him.

"Sherlock," he greeted his brother. The pair shook hands, like business partners, before Mycroft turned to John. He could feel those eyes studying him, taking in his patched jeans and his old Abbey Road Beatles shirt. The eyes moved quickly, taking in as much as his younger brother's. "And you must be John."

"Nice to meet you," John replied formally. Mycroft didn't reply, simply giving him a look.

"Come on. I have a car waiting."

* * *

><p>The car trip was taken mostly in silence. Every now and then, Mycroft would ask Sherlock a question about the school term, before asking John similar things. When directed to John, he spoke like he was speaking to a five year old. After about fifteen minutes, John was sick of it.<p>

"So, how's work at the ministry? You work at both the muggle ministry and the wizarding. Communication. Very good. Hard?"

For the first time, Mycroft seemed to notice John as more than just a tag along.

"Yes, I do work for both. Very few wizards have the... diplomacy... to work with both muggles and wizards. I assume Sherlock told you that."

John shook his head with a smile. "Sherlock barely ever talks about you. No, I figured it out myself. Look at you. You're dressed perfectly in muggle clothes, something I have rarely seen wizards do. You're neat, so probably important. And I know that you're intelligent, so you wouldn't be wasted. And you have a couple of muggle pens in your pocket. It's not too hard to guess that you're working with both muggles and wizards."

It was the first time John had seem Mycroft smile. "So you're not just some dimwit Sherlock invited to annoy me."

Sherlock tutted at that. "You know me. I cannot stand idiocy, not even to annoy you."

* * *

><p>Since John's slight showing off, Mycroft's attitude had become a bit more warm. He directed questions to both Sherlock and John, talking more loosely,<p>

"So, John, do I know your parents? There are quite a few Smiths around these days - popular surname."

"I dunno. If you do, it'd be nice. I don't actually know my parents, myself. I can't remember anything before my tenth birthday. I'm currently staying in a muggle orphanage."

"Ah. Right."

The questions always ended in a silence, before someone else asked a question. It was quite possibly the most awkward hour and a half of John's life, and he was glad when they finally pulled up at a beautiful, big, country house. The building was massive. It looked more like a miniature castle than a house. He'd never seen anything so grand, apart from maybe Hogwart's great hall.

"Well, here we are. I have a room set up for you, Sherlock, as well as a guest room for you John."

The pair of them exchanged looks, before going into the house. Inside it was nice; carpeted floor and coloured walls. There were windows letting in the light, making the rooms shine like gold. Sherlock and John walked up a flight of stairs, to another landing. There was a guest room, which John assumed was set up for him. He placed his trunk at the end, looking around the room slightly nervously. There was an en suite, and a massive bed. The entire room looked like it was made simply for comfort and over exaggeration, something that John had never really had in his memory. He'd gone from the thin mattress on metal frame to the nice four posted beds in the Gryffindor common room, but nothing compared to this.

He got up and ran upstairs to where Sherlock's room was. This one was at the top of the house, with skylights and large spaces. There was, too, a massive bed, as well as potions equipments, muggle chemistry equipment and various other things.

"Nice room. Nice house, too."

Sherlock turned and smiled slightly. "It's very Mycroft. Anything less than the best was never good enough for him. He takes after my mother."

John took in that little bit of information, looking around the room with new eyes. The cauldron was shiny and brand new, the bed plush and comfy looking. However, most of Sherlock's clothes looked relatively well worn - and that said something about his friend. Perhaps he was the black sheep in the family.

"Sherlock! John! Dinner!"

John's stomach rumbled on cue, and he grinned at Sherlock. The two of them headed down stairs and into the dining room where yhe table was being set by a small house elf, much like the ones at Hogwarts. It smiled at them, bowing.

"Dinner is served, Masters."

The way that he called them 'masters' made John's skin crawl. It was an instinctive reaction, and he couldn't quite understand it. It was probably one of those odd things from his past, like knowing the names of all the stars.

"I'm not a master. I'm just John. And your name is?"

The house elf looked shocked that John was asking it this. It bowed ever so slightly. "My name is Lorrie, sir."

"No... don't call me sir. It's John. Just... just John."

The house elf bowed again. "Sorry, sir... I mean, sorry John."

John was going to tell her not to apologise, but he figured it would just bring on more bowing and awkwardness. Seeing that no other comments were coming her way, the elf bowed and left, and for the first time John noticed Sherlock staring at him.

"What?"

"You."

"What about me?"

Sherlock simply shook his head and lead him into the dining room.

* * *

><p>Christmas day dawned with snow falling outside. John awoke slowly at sat up. He was rather surprised to see a small pile of gifts on the end of his bed. He'd never gotten anything for Christmas before, and he hadn't really expected anything this year. He slowly moved over to the end of the bed, and picked up the top one, pulling off the card. It was addressed to him, from a Mrs. Weasley. Ron's mother. He opened it and smiled when a brilliant blue jumper and a box of fudge fell out.<p>

"Oh, Ron's mum sent you one too?"

John looked up to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. He was wearing a pale blue jumper with a magnifying glass on the front, paired with fluffy socks and plain black jeans. It was a very un-Sherlock outfit, and John grinned. He pulled on his own, noticing the fact that there was a simple letter 'J' on it in white thread.

"The sloppy jumper look suits you," John commented with a smile.

"You don't pull it off too badly yourself. Come on, open the rest of your presents."

The tall boy gracefully sat on the couch next to his bed, watching as John picked up his next present, gently lifting up one little bit of sticky tape, taking care not to damage the paper.

"Why do you open them so slowly?" Sherlock complained. John shrugged his shoulders.

"I dunno. I just do."

He finally freed the gift from it's wrappings. It was a beautiful blue quill, with a small note attached.

_To go with your notebook._

_Hermione._

He smiled, before moving on to the next one. He'd never seen quite so many presents in his life. The next was from Ron, a simple book on quidditch rules. He smiled, remembering the boy getting mad at him for asking so many questions during Harry's first match. Harry had given him a large assortment of wizard sweets. Then there were three presents left.

Sherlock grinned when he picked up a present wrapped in a deep, vivid blue. John didn't even need to open the card to know that Sherlock had given him the present. He gently opened the present and smiled. Sherlock had given him a blue scarf, much like the one that Sherlock had been wearing when he first met him. This one, however, was longer, and the same blue as the wrapping paper and his diary.

"It's a Holmes thing. Very few people earn the respect of our family. See the gold embroidery over there? It's enchanted in a special way. It offers some protection against hexes, as well as identifying you as one of us. The smart ones."

There was a slight pause, before he added, "Oh, and it's warm."

"Thanks, Sherlock."

There were now two packages left. He grabbed one, which was a small pouch, and read the attached note.

_I cannot have a friend of this family going around in those old muggle clothes. _

_MH_

John frowned, before opening the pouch. Inside there was a rather large collection of gold galleons. More than John had seen so far during his time at Hogwarts, him having to dip into school funds to get into the school. He shook his head. "I can't accept that."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why not? It's nothing to us; we're the last of an old family. We have enough money to last us several life times."

John knew that they probably wouldn't understand his reasons, so he simply placed the gold aside and picked up the last package. It was small and thin, with no note attached. He carefully unwrapped it, and a small silver rod fell out. It was like a wand, except it had a button on the side and a blue light at the tip. It stirred a slight memory in the back of his mind.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked curiously, peering at it. John gently held it in it's fingers. It felt odd, familiar. It was like it completed him, more comfortable in his hand than his wand. And he knew it's name, even if he couldn't quite place what it was, or what it did.

"It's my sonic screwdriver."

**As a psychology student, I must comment that this is not how amnesia actually works. However, a Time Lord has a different mind, so I am using that as my justification**


	12. Threats, Pancakes and Alchemy

**Again! I need to pre-write, don't I? I swear, it shall not happen again for a while. I am on holidays now, so that gives me a tad bit more time. Anyhoo, I hope you all like this chapter. I'm fond of it, but I did write it...**

**Review replies!**

**Bethy-Boodles: Supremely epic? I think that that would make a nice description.**

**puddingflaun: Oh, just wait 'till you see what else. YOU SHALL NEVER GUESS!**

**crazymacky:I love that you love it**

**Sam Lockhart: Longest review I've ever gotten! I'm glad that I have turned you into a Potterwholock reader; people need to write and read more of it. And thank you - I'm constantly having nervousness over if it is doing well when it comes to characterisation and breaking people's hearts. And I'm glad you think it's good I'm sticking to the Potter plot - I was half planning on making it in a different time but I thought this would be more fun. And I know, but I'm trying to write from the point of view of John, despite it being in first person, and I thought it made sense. Although it may have just been a 'seemed like a good idea at the time' moment. And I hope that this update doesn't disappoint you.**

"It's your what?"

John was holding the screwdriver delicately, flicking the switch every now and then. It let out a buzz as it vibrated, blue light lighting up at the tip of it. He could feel all the different settings, knew all that they did. It was his screwdriver. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. Without bothering to answer Sherlock's question, he began to look at the wrapping it had come in. The paper was gold, and as he flattened it out he realised that there were intricate circles drawn onto the paper. He sat there and flattened it out, looking at the beautiful pattern. He traced it ever so carefully. It felt more familiar than the screwdriver had in his hand. Without realising it, he began to read it aloud in a strange language. There were trills an lilts in it, and it was beautiful. He continued to whisper in it, before he noticed Shelock looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed in his calculating look.

"What?"

"What language was that?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Gallifreyan."

"Gallifreyan? As in, the planet you said was in the Time Lock. 'Gallifrey burned' I believe you said."

"Yea, I did." John's brow furrowed as he began to think, trying to work it all out. Surely there were more memories there. But he was encountering a block, one which he knew would take a long time to disable.

"What does it say?"

It took John a second to comprehend the text in English. There were various words which he couldn't quite translate into English.

"It says, 'I know who you are. You are the Doctor. The Oncoming Storm, the Destroyer of Worlds. Theta Sigma. Most importantly, I suppose one may call you'..."

He stared at the word. He understood it. It was more to him than anything he'd ever read, which was insane. He couldn't pronounce it in English, and even if he did Sherlock wouldn't be able to understand. No matter how intelligent the human was, it wouldn't be enough. So instead he said it in the language his brain was dubbing as 'Gallifreyan.' It was breathed, almost silently, a group of notes with vowels stuck on and intonations changing. Sherlock was looking confused, a first for him. "Is that all?"

John shook his head. "It says 'You're playing by my rules, now.' That's it. And it's not quite the right translation. The last sentence, it's more complex. The surface definition is that, but there are so many layers to it, so many different ways it can be interpreted. But there's that little flick there, and that bit there. That conveys the tone."

Sherlock couldn't help it - the mystery enticed him. "What tone is it?"

"I think it's meant to be a threat."

* * *

><p>There was a slight nervous apprehension between Sherlock and John as they went downstairs. John was now getting more and more frustrated about his allusive past; he was sure that the sender of the threat was somewhere in those shadows and mysteries. He had scribbled more into his diary, knowing that perhaps it could bring an answer. He took between drawing, writing in English and writing in this Gallifreyan. So far all trails he followed led to dead ends, and he was growing frustrated. He kept on fiddling with his screwdriver, trying to figure it out. Trying to connect the dots that alluded him so.<p>

"Who do you know who would want to threaten you?" Sherlock had been getting annoyed by this for ages, and his questions were mainly rhetorical. John answered him anyway.

"I have no clue. Someone from my past, maybe? Because I most certainly have a past. A grand past where I was known as the oncoming storm and the destroyer of worlds and I could read all these languages and name all the stars. But I don't know what happened then, and I don't know who wants to threaten me now!" he snapped. Sherlock looked slightly taken aback.

"But surely you must have some clue. It's someone who can write in that language, Gallifreyan. So, therefore, it's someone who must have some knowledge of it. You said it burned - dead language. It's like trying to find people who can fluently and easily speak a complex version of Latin - it narrows it down. The wrapping is generic, but you say that your...screwdriver is yours. The handwriting - the smudges indicate it was written by a humanoid hand, but it was left handed. Extremely neat, so attention paid to detail despite the small smudges."

John frowned, looking at the screwdriver. He was now wanting to go back to Hogwarts as soon as possible - they were not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts, but inside he could do so much. That is, providing the magic in the air didn't break the screwdriver. He got the feeling that it wouldn't. There was just something about it.

"Master Sherlock, John."

John jumped ever so slightly, almost dropping his screwdriver in shock. He fumbled and caught it in his fingertips. He turned his attention to the voice's owner, the little house elf with it's head turned down, looking guilty.

"Don't sneak up on me like that! Or at least give me some warning," John said, complaint in his voice. The little creature looked a little like it was going to cry, or throw itself under some oncoming train, making John feel guilty. "Sorry Lorrie. You just startled me."

The elf looked up at him with those tennis ball like eyes. "No, no, Lorrie is sorry! Lorrie did not mean to scare you! Master Mycroft simply sent to fetch you for breakfast."

"Right. Thank you, Lorrie."

The elf bowed low and scuttled away, shy. John knew that once again Sherlock would be giving him that odd look, so he simply ignored him and walked into the dining room, slipping his screwdriver into his pocket. He didn't feel like being questioned by Sherlock's older brother at this moment. He knew that Sherlock was following him by the soft padding sound of his friend's socked feet.

Mycroft was wearing an outfit that John suspected was the closest to casual for him. He wasn't wearing a tie, and his top button was not done up. Apart from that, he was wearing a white top with a pinstriped blazer and trousers. Still, it was almost relaxed for the seventeen year old.

"Decided to dress casually, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked from behind John. The older boy rolled his eyes.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Sherlock. Did you like the book I gave you?"

Book? In John's frustration over the mystery screwdriver, he hadn't bothered to ask if Sherlock had gotten anything interesting.

"I don't see why you got it. I've never had an interest in Alchemy, you know that."

"I think you might find it... illuminating."

There was a twinkle in Mycroft's eyes that gave John the feeling that he didn't simply want his younger brother to learn about alchemy for the sake of it. Mycroft motioned for the two of them to sit down, and they obeyed. Breakfast was eaten in complete silence. John was thinking about the screwdriver in his pocket, questioning it and pushing against that mental block to no avail. It was like it was a solid wall in his mind, stretching on forever. When he wasn't expecting it, something could tumble out, but the more he forced it the stronger it got. He barely touched his food, simply pushing the pancakes around his plate as he thought. Finally, the silence was broken.

"Are you okay, John?"

He looked up, wide eyed and startled, for a second forgetting where he was. He snapped back to attention quickly, though, noticing Mycroft's eyes once again boring into him.

"Yea, I'm fine."

Mycroft still looked at him in that disbelieving way, but didn't press him for more information. The table once more lapsed into silence, John eating now. He realised that he was actually as hungry as always, while Sherlock pushed his food around his plate.

"You going to eat that?"

Sherlock simply pushed the plate to his friend in reply.

* * *

><p>Breakfast finished and John hurried up to his room. He ended up just lying on his bed for ages, fiddling with this mystery screwdriver and getting no new information from it. He knew that this was going to drive him completely and utterly insane if he kept dwelling on it, but he couldn't draw his mind away. He had copied out the Gallifreyan in his own hand, noting differences between his version and the original. The threatening flick didn't look anywhere near as bad in his writing. He was sure that he could make it seem just as bad, but he needed to mean it. The hand didn't write, the language did. He simply controlled it, channeling the power. It made him think of the language they used for magic. The two were extremely similar, despite being different. The power and beauty behind them.<p>

He sat up abruptly, putting down his screwdriver. He needed to get out. Do something. To run as fast and far as he possibly could from the house, the note, the thing. He almost ran to the door, itching to get out. He pulled it open to see Sherlock on the other side, obviously coming to see him.

"I found him. I found Nicholas Flamel."

***Dramatic chord* Yea, I know, short, but I swear you will get given an update soon!**


	13. Holidays

**puddingflaun: Thanks, as always! hope this chapter is as brilliant as the rest for you!**

It was better than a run, this mystery stuff. John didn't waste a moment going back into his room and clearing the screwdriver and note off his bed, plonking down.

"Tell."

Sherlock joined him on the bed, a book on Alchemy in his hands. He flipped the book open to a page and shoved it in John's direction. He wasted no time in reading the page.

_Possibly the best known alchemist of our times is Nicholas Flamel. His research broke down boundaries that most wizards didn't know existed, creating new ideas and enchantments. What Flamel is best known for is his creation of the philosopher's stone (see page 51 for more detail)..._

John didn't bother to keep reading; he got the feeling he knew what it was. He flipped through, looking for page 51. It didn't take him long, and then he was back to reading.

_The philosopher's stone was created by Nicholas Flamel. It's properties include turning metal into gold and producing the elixir of life._

"This is what's hidden under Fluffy's trap door."

Sherlock shrugged. "It fits perfectly."

John nodded in agreement, looking at the picture of the stone. It reminded him a bit of rosin, and for an odd moment he wondered what it would do to the sound of a violin. He shook the entirely irrelevant thought out of his head and got back to the matter at hand. Now they knew what the dog was guarding, it would be easier for them to figure out who the thief was. But most humans would want gold and life. So really they were only left with thinking of powerful ones. Ones who probably wanted it for life more than gold.

"Eternal life... like Ron said."

Sherlock snorted at that comment, not liking Ron to be right. Still, he didn't dispute it, simply looking annoyed. It only lasted for a couple of seconds, though.

"But who would want eternal life?" John continued to muse aloud.

"Many people. The question is more who is powerful enough to be able to break in and out of Gringots. That narrows it down to two people I can think of."

Of course, being Sherlock, he stopped there.

"Who?" John was forced to ask.

"Jim Moriarty, or Lord Voldemort."

* * *

><p>John and Sherlock made sure to keep a straight face as they walked downstairs for lunch, despite the fact they suspected Mycroft knew exactly what they had discovered. Sherlock explained that it was a game they tended to play with each other - giving each other silent clues and nudges. It was almost a game of chess between them. How on earth Mycroft had figured Sherlock and John knew about Flamel was beyond John, but Sherlock said that he most certainly had figured it out. So, of course, now that Sherlock knew he'd do something cryptic and wait for Mycroft to make the next move.<p>

John didn't quite understand it, but he didn't mind. He'd already figured that the Holmes family had some odd quirks that he would probably never understand.

Mycroft looked the same as ever as they greeted him. John couldn't help but wonder if he knew that they knew. One never knew with Mycroft.

Lorrie looked slightly alarmed to find Sherlock and John already down at the table, having not called them herself. The elf's lips began to quiver slightly nervously, as if holding back both tears and fear. John quickly crouched to her level, looking her in the eyes, concerned.

"Are you okay, Lorrie?"

Lorrie's lips were still trembling, but she nodded. "Lorrie is fine, John. Lorrie just didn't expect John and Master Sherlock to be at the table already. Fetching is usually Lorrie's job."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he told her kindly. "We didn't mean to startle you. We simply felt like it was a good time to come down."

Lorrie didn't respond to his apology. "Lorrie will get back to the kitchen now, sir."

John watched as she left. She still made him feel uncomfortable - it was weird having something like her around. A servant. More like a slave. He could feel Mycroft's eyes boring into him as he stared at the spot the house elf had been.

"You're an unusual wizard," the older boy said. John shrugged his shoulders.

"So I've been told."

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was not nearly as eventful as the morning had been. Knowing who Flamel was, knowing that someone was out to get John. Now they had to wait for the other side to make the next move. It wasn't the most comfortable experience, and Sherlock was already getting bored.<p>

"Hey, do you have a broom? I missed our flying lesson," John asked. Of everything they could do, he'd been looking forwards to flying the most and was quite irritated he missed it. It looked like fun. So Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and led him out the back where two nimbus 2001s were sitting there.

"I thought they were only up to nimbus 2000s," John commented, gently touching the sleek brooms.

"Mycroft somehow managed to get sample prototypes. He's good at that."

Always wanted the best, Sherlock had told him before. John shrugged and took the broom, mounting it easily. He could feel it consciously, and got the feeling it was more than just a simple floating charm on these things. There were layers upon layers of magic on this stick of wood.

"It's beautiful."

It reminded him of the coral interior of the blue box in his dreams. Although it was in no way the same, there was that feeling. An instinct. He gently kicked off the ground, grinning as the wind rushed past. It gave him a rush, feeling like he was invincible. Gently he turned the thing, feeling it reply quickly to his touch. He pulled it, feeling like it was almost too simple. In experiment, he pulled himself down into a dive. The ground was rushing up to meet him, rushing and rushing as his hearts began to pound, waiting for the right moment and then...

He pulled it up, laughing and whooping as he was aware of Sherlock's eyes on him. The other boy was on the other broom, looking neat and in control with his grace while John grinned, hair ruffled and grinning.

"How have I never done this before. This is amazing. It's like... oh, it's just brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I need to get myself one of these!"

Once again Sherlock was giving him a considering look. The pair of them were so similar, yet so different.

* * *

><p>For the rest of the holidays Sherlock and John alternated between eating, reading up on Flamel, thinking about the odd screwdriver and practicing flying. Despite John's protests, Mycroft had bought him a whole new wardrobe, including some brand new school robes and some neat muggle clothes. He'd chosen a suit like outfit, quite similar to Sherlock and Mycroft's, but at the same time very different. His top was coloured, his jacket and pants blue pinstriped. He sometimes wore a tie, but it was usually rather loose with his top button undone. His feet were covered by converse shoes. It wasn't really a muggle-like outfit in the scheme of things, but it felt comfortable on him. Right. As if he'd been wearing it for his entire life.<p>

Sherlock had been unable to understand John's wonder at flying. For him, flying was simply a means of transport. For John, it was an art. Something to be relished in and taken with wonder. If there was one thing John was going to miss from his stay with the Holmes, it would be the flying every afternoon. Although he had also grown quite fond of the house elf - Lorrie. She was always going on about how she was happy to serve, and about how she did not want to be set free, but John could tell she liked him talking to her like an equal. John treated her like everyone else. He supposed Sherlock did, too, but Sherlock wasn't exactly the best person when talking to normal people.

The holidays ended, and soon they were heading back to school for the new term. John had packed his new robes, while still keeping his old ones. He had almost considered leaving his screwdriver and the wrapping paper behind, but he knew it would be like an itch he couldn't scratch so he packed them, slipping his screwdriver into his pocket where it nestled next to his wand. The train trip didn't seem to take as long as usual, and soon they were back within Hogwarts grounds.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were all waiting in the common room when John and Sherlock arrived. Soon they were exchanging stories, Harry telling them about the Mirror of Erised and what he'd found out about it. John felt slightly disappointed that he hadn't had a chance to face the mirror. He got the feeling that his hearts desire was to know his past, and the mirror would tell him exactly it. Still, if the mirror was moved by Dumbledore, John knew he shouldn't go looking for it.

Then it was their turn to explain their holidays. John told them all about Flamel, and what they'd found and the conclusions they'd drawn. Ron didn't seem happy.

"I still think Snape's after it," he told them stubbornly. Sherlock tutted.

"It's not him. He would already have it, probably."

"What if he's working for you-know-who? What then?"

Sherlock laughed. "You think Snape's working for you-know-who? I doubt it. Maybe, once he was, but Dumbledore trusts him. And I have never seen a lapse in Dumbledore's judgment."

There was a frosty silence, as always. The pair of them could never get along, John had figured that much. It wasn't Ron's blood status that irritated Sherlock, or anything like that. It was simply the fact that Ron tended not to say the most intelligent things, and John knew that it irritated Sherlock, much like Sherlock's intelligence irked Ron.

John wondered if now was the time to bring up his screwdriver and the threatening message. He decided not to, knowing that Ron would claim some odd thing, before suggesting to ask his dad. Hermione would ask him similar questions to Sherlock, but instead of Sherlock's analytical way she would ask it like he was precious, telling him he should tell a teacher. And Harry... well, John didn't really know what the boy's reaction would be. So his screwdriver stayed hidden in his pocket as they went up to their dorms and got ready for bed before term started again.

**Feel a bit rushed to you? I dunno, I've re-written it a few times but it's not quite right.**


	14. Norberta the Dragon

**I feel so bad that it's been so long. I have exams and other commitments and I've discovered Supernatural and oh, god, there's just so much going on. So sorry that I haven't updated, but hopefully this is good enough to make up for it. And I know that this chapter is very much like the book, but just you wait! I have evil master plans!**

**Answers to Reviews:**

**RomanaIIofTARDIS: Glad you liked it, and I hope this doesn't disappoint**

**xXxRavenLinusxXx: Hahaha, I'm not the only person who reads fanfic in class! Here's an update for you, then, to continue procrastinating. And thank you!**

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><p>"It's Snape. It's gotta be."<p>

Sherlock and John looked up from their respective books in an exact timing that was almost comical. They were both sprawled across chairs in the common room, looking more alike than anyone would ever tell them. Despite the fact that he knew they weren't related at all, there were so many similarities between them, and not just intelligence wise. They both got impatient when people couldn't keep up, speaking at a thousand miles per hour and then staring at him, as if he were the odd one. Right now, that was the look he was getting.

"What makes you so sure?"

"I saw him and Quirell in the forbidden forest. He was basically threatening him."

There was that look again. Well, at least from Sherlock. John was frowning, obviously thinking.

"What connection do either of them have with Lord Voldemort or Moriarty?" John asked.

If either Ron or Hermione had been there they would have shuddered at Voldemort's name. Harry could never see the reason to fear the name, a possible side effect of his muggle upbringing. John, too, was raised by muggles, but his reason for saying the name aloud was more logical. When Ron had confronted him about saying it, the boy had looked quite taken aback. Harry could still remember his response.

_'Why should I fear a name? He's just another man. Nobody refuses to speak Dumbledore's name, and he's so much more than Voldemort. If anyone's name should be graced with not being said, it should be his.'_

Sherlock, of course, simply ignored all social taboos. He would say whatever he wanted, and he didn't care for calling Voldemort you-know-who. It was so very Sherlock.

"I don't know. But Snape's trying to steal the stone, I'm sure of it."

Neither John nor Sherlock looked sure.

* * *

><p><em>The Doctor was laying in bed with his wife, looking at her and taking in her beauty. Her eyes were closed as she breathed steadily, looking beautiful. He loved nobody like he loved her. Her and their children. Four beautifully loomed children. It would have been nicer to have unloomed children, but that was yet another time lord curse.<em>

_They'd only been married for seventy years - a blink of an eye to a Time Lord. Still, their love was rare on Gallifrey - burning beautifully and brightly, strong with passion. More than dry and dusty. And he couldn't imagine anywhere he'd rather be than there, simply watching her. She stirred, her eyes opening slowly as she smiled at him. Oh, that smile. How could anyone not instantly fall for her?_

_'You're the most beautiful thing in the whole of time and space.'_

_She smiled at him, gently kissing him. Then she opened her mouth to say..._

"Hagrid's harboring an illegal dragon egg. He'd officially gone mad."

John jerked awake, eyes flying open as he fell off the couch he'd been lying on in the common room. He must have nodded off.

"I've always known he was mad. How is this a new revelation?" Sherlock asked dryly. John was feeling a bit annoyed - they'd gone to visit Hagrid without him.

"Why didn't you wake me if you were going to visit Hagrid's?" he asked, feeling a bit left out.

"You were sleeping. You've been exhausted lately, and we all know you haven't been sleeping well. Everyone had seen that; even Fred and George kept quite around you. We just didn't want to wake you," Hermione told him. John was quite irritated by this, and was going to retort when he realised she was right. He hadn't slept properly since he'd gotten the note, and the small bit of sleep he managed to catch was always plagued by odd images, not all of them nice, that didn't make any sense.

"So what's this about a dragon?" he asked, not just out of wanting to change the subject.

"Hagrid's somehow gotten himself a dragon egg. He wants to hatch and raise it himself. I don't know what he'd thinking - he lives in a wooden house!" Hermione huffed.

"Well, he's always wanted a dragon. He told me that before."

"He can't keep it!" Ron burst out, shaking his head. "It's illegal as hell, you know. Not many people are up to handling dragons. My brother, Charlie, always has these stories of what dragons can do."

Harry perked up. "Ron! That's it!"

"What's it?" Ron asked, confused.

"Charlie! We can send the dragon to him when it hatches!"

* * *

><p><em>It's hatching<em>

* * *

><p>John, Sherlock, Hermione, Ron and Harry were all on edge as they waited for their class to finish. The very second they were dismissed, they all began to run to Hagrid's hut, and not just from concern for their friend. They banged on the door.<p>

"All righ', I'm comin'."

He swung the door open and smiled at them.

"Come in. 'E's jus' hatchin'."

They suffled inside, sitting down. There was an egg there, on the fire, cracks through it. Harry watched it, almost scared of it. From what he'd heard, dragons were not to be reckoned with.

"Hagrid, you do realise that you can't keep the dragon."

John was always the one to go right to the heart of the problem. Well, him and Sherlock. Neither of them beat around the bush, but John said it softly. Carefully. Trying to make people see sense, but not in the same cruel way as Sherlock did.

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't belong here. It belongs with other dragons. He'll have to leave eventually; it'd be caught and taken away when it was fully grown, and then probably released into the wild without any of the survival skills."

"Bu'..."

There was another bang from the egg, and they all turned. The shell was splitting apart, cracking along different spots until something small and spindly fell out. Harry thought it looked a bit like an umbrella, but both Hagrid and John had spun and were staring at it with wide eyes.

"That is... brilliant. Hello," John grinned, looking at the dragon with a goofy smile. It looked back at him and hissed, and he frowned ever so slightly and drew back. "That wasn't polite," he scolded the baby dragon, before making this odd hissing sound. The dragon stopped and cocked it's head at him, and let out another hiss. The two of them were exchanging some sort of hissing contest until Ron interrupted.

"Um... what are you doing?"

John turned to him, wide eyed, scratching the dragon under it's chin by now, the creature doing what Harry would call purring.

"I speak dragon... apparently."

He was most certainly odd. Even Sherlock was thrown by that statement.

"Well, that's a new kind of crazy," Ron muttered.

* * *

><p>By the end of the week, the dragon (named Norberta, after John corrected Hagrid in terms of it's gender) had grown at an astounding rate. It was like a dragon as it snapped at everyone, not letting any single person into it's personal space. The only exception to this rule was John - the thing loved him. It would come bounding up to him and rub it's face against his leg like it was a cat.<p>

They'd managed to convince Hagrid to send the dragon to Charlie, Ron telling him that Charlie would take good care of him. Hagrid hadn't seemed too happy about that, but he allowed it. They'd arranged to take Norberta away that night, a letter from Charlie tucked inside Ron's potion's book with the details.

If they'd been on edge when Norberta was hatching, it was nothing like this. They'd decided that only two of them would fit under the invisibility cloak with Norberta. Without much questioning it was decided that Harry and John would go - Harry being the one who Hagrid trusted most, John being the one who could control the young dragon without issue. If the others were getting stressed, it was nothing compared to those two. They only had to get through double potions, then they could stop worrying quite so much about teachers noticing something being wrong.

"Professor Snape, I cannot find my potion's book."

Malfoy's voice was high and uppity, speaking words that no Gryffindor would ever dare to in his classroom.

"Weasley, give Malfoy your book. You can share with Holmes."

Neither Sherlock or Ron looked too pleased with that arrangement, Ron shoving him his book while looking on to Sherlock's. Of course, Sherlock barely referred to the book as he worked, although he still managed to be fine. Nobody else could do potions like him, and even Snape couldn't find fault in his skill.

It was at the end of the lesson when Sherlock looked up with wide eyes.

"Ron, where did you keep Charlie's letter?"

Ron looked up with wide eyes, realising the same thing as Sherlock had. "In that potions book," he whispered.

"You're an idiot."

* * *

><p>Despite the fact that they were sure Draco knew, Harry and John decided to go ahead anyway. That night, they carefully pulled the invisibility cloak over themselves and went down to Hagrid's hut. Norberta was handed over, and it was up to the north tower. Whenever Noberta stirred, John would purr or growl and the dragon would still. It still gave Harry chills; John had a sweet face, and often looked just like a frightened, lost little boy. However, there were times when Harry realised that there was more to him than anyone knew, even himself. The dangerous look that flashed in his eyes on those rare occurrences he got mad, or the ease with which he did spell work. However, one of the scariest things was when he spoke in other language. The way he could just calm the dragon by speaking to it in it's own tongue made Harry shiver; the ease in which he spoke different languages without any thought or effort truly scared him.<p>

It didn't take them too long to get up to the north tower. Being invisible certainly had it's perks. All that they really had to do was wait for the people who were going to take Norberta. There was an awkward silence between John and Harry; Harry was very rarely alone with John and really left the conversation up to Sherlock and Hermione. Finally, John spoke.

"It must be annoying."

The simple sentence startled Harry. "What do you mean?"

"Just... having so many people know your name in a world that you didn't even know existed. You always smile, and nod politely. It's impressive how easily you do it."

Harry was struck a little dumb. Here was this odd kid who Harry thought was incredible, commenting on him being impressive? It felt wrong.

"I'm not really. It was just a fluke accident that I survived, so it's not too hard to pretend it was nothing. I mean, I'm nothing compared to you. You don't even know who you are but you act kind to everyone. I mean, really, you're amazing. You're smart, you're kind, you're... you always seem like you're perfect."

John shook his head. "I need something to concentrate on, or I reckon I'd go mad. Not saying I'm not already, but even more so than now."

Harry frowned, considering. He'd never really though that John found it hard - he always made it all look so effortless. The only times that he didn't seem like he was untouchable was when he slept.

"I suppose we both have our reasons," Harry said softly.

There was another moment's silence, before the sound of brooms broke through. Two people landed softly. Charlie's friends.

"Hello. Are you two Harry and John?"

* * *

><p>The exchange was quick, but good. The two men had been extremely impressed with the fact that John could calm the dragon, but hadn't believed him when he said it was because he spoke to it in it's own tongue. Still, they respected him and took the dragon away. As they dissapeared into the distance, Harry felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were still things worrying him, but this was at least one thing off his shoulders. He and John headed back to the common room together, both in silence.<p>

They were about halfway there when they heard Filtch.

"My, my, my, we are in trouble."

* * *

><p>Harry didn't think he'd ever felt worse as he was taken to Professor McGonagall with John, and saw that Neville and Malfoy were there, too. John shifted slightly under their head of house's stern gaze, looking guiltily at Neville as they were beginning to get lectured. Being told that they had told Malfoy this story about how they had a dragon to get him in trouble. Neither he nor John corrected her; that would just bring Hagrid, Sherlock, Ron and Hermione into their trouble.<p>

Neville, however, was the worst. He looked completely and utterly miserable, his face having fallen as soon as they were dragged in.

"I'm very disappointed in you all. Fifty house points will be deducted from each of you, and you will have a detention later this week."

The four of them all nodded, shame-faced. Harry could see John biting his lip, glancing at Neville guiltily. Of all the things that had gone wrong, Harry could see that's what he was most worried about. And as soon as McGonigal let them go, John walked up to Neville.

"I'm so sorry," he said seriously. However, Neville simply shoved him away.

"I thought you were my friend. One of the good ones."

The kicked puppy look on John's face as Neville stormed past made Harry just want to give him a hug. However, he restrained himself, instead giving him a small, comforting smile.

"We should head back to the common room."

**He speaks baby! Why the hell wouldn't he speak Dragon?**


	15. Into The Forest

**Answers to reviews:**

**TheQuestionThatRemains: Sh... spoilers!  
><strong>

**Luna'Sister: He's the Doctor Who character. It's kinda a three way crossover - although it doesn't matter if you haven't watched it!  
><strong>

**krouda: Thanks! I know this isn't exactly soon, though...  
><strong>

**The Doctor's Secret Husband: I love the kicked puppy face. It's just... perfect. And thanks!**

**Kosaka Amart: Haha, you've been missing out on brilliance of crossovers. And just wait until you get to where I go with him (although I don't want to make you excited then disappoint). And Sherlock's John will be joining (confusing) later on. Not in this story, but definitely before the story's out. And thanks for pointing that out!  
><strong>

**iggsplosives: Haha, chocolate an peanut butter sandwich with sugar cookies sound amazing! I feel proud to be compared to anything with chocolate!  
><strong>

**And we're getting into the exciting stuff now! We're most definitely past the half way point. So thanks for sticking with me so far, and hopefully you like the twists I put in now. Also, sorry for going AWOL again. I think I just have to face the fact that I have a lot of stuff to do and may not be the most frequent updater.**

Their detention notice came later that week. John had gotten to the stage where he could no longer look Neville in the eye without seeing the hurt there. When owls delivered the note saying that their detention would take place that night, he couldn't even bring himself to look at his fellow house member. And as if that wasn't bad enough, everyone was angry at them. One hundred and fifty points lost because of a couple of stupid first years. People were completely and utterly blanking Harry, or whispering insults behind his back. It wasn't quite so bad for John or Neville - they were both relatively unknown. Still, John was keeping his head further down than usual.

"I don't see why this is bothering you so much," Sherlock had whispered to him one charms lesson when he simply did his work quietly. "It's not like you had a choice."

"It's not the fact that I got in trouble. It's the fact that I caused Neville to get into trouble."

"Why should what happens to him worry you?"

John had simply shaken his head at his friend - he wouldn't understand. Since that night, John had probably gotten two, three hours of sleep. That first night, he'd closed his eyes, and all he'd seen was fire, pain, burning destruction. It was always the same, every time he closed his eyes. He decided that staying awake would be preferable to falling back into that nightmare, and he refused to go to Madame Pomfrey for a sleeping potion.

Now, however, he was feeling the slight strain. He was constantly battling to keep his eyes open, and even Sherlock was looking worried about him. And Sherlock didn't worry easily.

"John, you have to get some sleep. You're just going to crash and burn," Sherlock insisted. John thought that it was a bit rich coming from him, the boy who didn't know the meaning of sleep.

"I'm fine. I don't need sleep."

"John, even I can't cope with the amount of sleep you've been getting."

There was this odd fury building inside John. He snapped. "Well, I'm not you! I can cope without sleeping for months! I don't like sleep, and I don't need it. I'm not a pitiful little ape like you!"

Sherlock didn't look hurt exactly, but he gave John a long, hard stare, before he walked away. John closed his eyes, his anger ebbing. Maybe Sherlock was right. It wasn't like him at all to burst out screaming at someone. He was just tired and grumpy. But being tired was better than being in a nightmare.

* * *

><p>Walking through the corridors was difficult. John found that people when out of their way to shove into him, glaring at him with annoyance. Everyone bar Slytherin were annoyed about how many points they'd lost - nobody wanted to see Slytherin win, so even Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were grumpy. And, to top it all off, John and Sherlock weren't talking. Sherlock was back to sitting by himself as John sat with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Every time he made eye contact with Neville or Sherlock, he felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't really gotten to talk to Sherlock since their argument, so he hadn't had a chance to make it up to him. Every time he saw him, Sherlock would stubbornly walk the other way. John guessed it was to be expected.<p>

Even in class it was painful. During herbology, he worked with two hufflepuff boys and Sherlock. Today, Sherlock and Hermione had swapped spots, and the two hufflepuffs were refusing to talk to them apart from to ask him to pass something.

"They'll get over it," Hermione assured him, but it did little to make him feel better. He generally didn't care what people thought of him, but being flat out ignored was irritating.

"I hope so."

* * *

><p>Night came too soon, in John's opinion. He, Harry, Neville and Draco were met at the entrance hall by Filch, who had a leering grin plastered onto his face.<p>

"I'm t' take you down to Hagrid's cabin."

He must have noticed John and Harry's faces lighting up, because he chuckled.

"Don't think yer gonna have an easy time. I hear you'll be doing work in the forbidden forest."

Neville went pale at that news, and Draco began to stutter out words.

"I can't go into the forbidden forest! There's all sorts of things down there. My father will hear about this, you mark my words!"

Filch simply laughed and led them outside, telling them about all the horrid things there was in the forest.

Hagrid looked almost as guilty as John felt, smiling very slightly at the group.

"Thank you fer bringin' them down Filch, but I'll be takin' over from here."

Filch grumbled out something but went off anyway, head bowed in annoyance as he left.

"Now, there's a unicorn injured in the forest. Our job tenight is to find it and put it outta it's misery."

* * *

><p>John was actually quite fascinated by the forest. Sure, it was dark and a little bit creepy, but there were all sorts of things in there. His wand was held aloft, tip shining.<p>

"So, we'll split off inta pairs. Harry and John, you come with me. Neville and Draco, take Fang and go down that way. If you get into trouble, send up red sparks. If you find the unicorn, send up green sparks."

They nodded and split off, John looking around in wonder yet again, face eerily lit up in his wand light. The trees rustled around them, and both Harry and John held their wands aloft as Hagrid went to grasp his pink umbrella.

However, it soon became apparent that their wands weren't needed as what was causing the rustling stepped out of the shadows.

A grand centaur stepped out, shaking out it's hair as it stood, half horse, half human, and nothing like John had ever seen.

Without even realising it, John whispered out a word in the language he was coming to know as Gallifreyan. The centaur, Harry, and Hagrid all turned to stare at him, and once again his cheeks went slightly pink.

"What?"

"How do you know that word?" the centaur asked, standing up straighter and tossing it's head menacingly. John didn't back down, simply shrugging his shoulders.

"I just... do. It seems to be happening a lot lately, now that I think about it."

The magnificent thing seemed to study the small boy, eyes boring through him as if it could pierce into his soul.

"The language you speak is a language of power. There are many myths and legends about it within our people. They say that it is the root of what you humans call 'magic', and that none bar one can speak it fluently. And that one shall know the true name of the language, and command the rules of the universe with the power of a god. And he shall banish all barriers, and be as important to our world as the boy who lived."

John shivered slightly. He could speak the language fluently. He knew it's name. He was also inexplicably good at magic.

"You must have your legends wrong, then. I know the name of the language, and I can speak it fluently, but surely..."

He was cut off as the centaur began to bend down in a bow, looking at the boy in awe.

"No... don't bow."

The creature stood up and was once more scrutinising John. Finally, Hagrid sought to break the silence.

"Roran, we're looking for a unicorn. It's badly injured. Have you seen anything unusual?"

The centaur, Roran, looked at Hagrid. "Mars is unusually bright tonight."

Then, with a final bow to John, he trotted off.

* * *

><p>"That was weird," John commented as they stood there, slightly shocked.<p>

"A centaur bowed to yer. I haven' seen them do tha' to their own kind. Never t' a human."

The half giant was looking at him with a bit of awe. Once again, John felt his cheeks grow slightly pink under such scrutiny. Harry, thankfully, saved him.

"Well, we don't really have time to dwell on this. Don't we have a unicorn to find?"

Hagrid nodded, and the trio set off again, looking for signs of the mystical beast. There was no sign, however.

Suddenly, red sparks shot into the sky. John, Harry and Hagrid all looked at it, before they set off at a run. Red sparks were their emergency signal, which meant that right now Neville and Malfoy were in trouble. Malfoy John didn't care overly about, but Neville... well, it was his fault the other gryffindor was here in the first place. So he picked up the pace, feeling his pulse begin to jump as he ran. They ran until they could see Neville and Malfoy...

... looking incredibly guilty.

"He jumped out and scared me," Neville admitted, his face red and slightly shamed. Hagrid shook his big, shaggy head.

"Yer an idiot. Both of yer. John, go with Malfoy and Fang. Harry, you an' Neville can come with me."

* * *

><p>John looked around carefully, Malfoy walking with Fang. He was keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the unicorn. Any tracks, any anything. Then they could find it and get out of there. Because no matter how fascinating John found it, the slightly creepy factor outweighed the interest.<p>

"There," he said softly, seeing something silvery. He walked forwards and gently dipped his fingers in; blood. Most certainly blood.

"This way."

He barely even noticed Malfoy, who whimpered ever so slightly as John set off, looking at the blood. The poor creature would be in so much pain.

He was almost running by the time he saw it. It was almost dead, he could see from here, but still glowing silver in the darkness. There was something leaning over it... something that made John feel apprehensive. He could hear Malfoy's heavy breathing as they both stood stock still, watching the thing drink the unicorn's blood.

Then it looked up.

John didn't even notice Malfoy's scream. He was captivated by those red eyes, which now captured his. He was reminded of something in his past... cold, soulless, without love of compassion. It was up there with the nightmare child on the list of most evil things he'd ever seen. If he couldn't clearly see that this thing was a man, he would assume it a brother of the nightmare child.

But he'd laughed in the face of the nightmare child, hadn't he? He tightened his grip on his wand, raising it. And without conscious thought, he found himself speaking. That delicate language that came so naturally to him. Two words, and suddenly light was flowing out of his wand, engulfing the whole forest in a silver light that made even the beauty of the unicorn seem grey. There was nothing that escaped it, the entire forest burning the same silver as his wand.

_The second sun would rise in the south, and the mountains would shine. The leaves on the trees were silver, when they caught the light, every morning it looked like a forest on fire._

The memory hit him, and suddenly the power he had held fell away. He stumbled ever so slightly, but he noticed something. The... thing that had been there was gone, and the unicorn was no longer bleeding. In fact, it was glowing a purer silver than it had before, looking better than was possible. The creature bent its knee to him, before trotting off.

John swayed on the spot, feeling dizziness wash over him. He found a tree and slumped at it's base, closing his eyes and allowing his head to clear. A second later he realised that he should probably do something to let them know he was all right. He pointed his wand at the sky and shot out green sparks.

* * *

><p>"John! John, what happened?"<p>

John opened his eyes to see the bright green eyes of Harry Potter staring into his own. He blinked a couple of times to clear his head.

"Huh?"

"We saw a bunch of silver light from over here. They could probably see it up at the castle it was so bright. And then Malfoy came running in, scared out of his wits!"

John shook his head. "It's... complicated. There was this thing. And it was... it was like pure evil. And I just sort of... calmed myself. And focused myself. And I said something in Gallifreyann and there was all this silver light. When it faded, the thing was gone, and the unicorn just got up and walked away."

"Do you know what the thing was?"

John gulped ever so slightly, afraid to say what idea had been playing in the back of his mind. "I think... I think it was Lord Voldemort."

**Dramatic chord! Okay, not the best chapter, but I wanted to get something up. Like I said, we're nearing the end, so keep on reading!**


	16. Telepathic tendencies

**This is yet another filler chapter, but just wait. We're nearing the end of Of Time Lords, Detectives and Philosopher Stones, but do not fear! Once I've finished this I'll get onto writing and uploading the sequel, Of Time Lords, Detectives and Secret Chambers (I'm not sure on the title. It doesn't have the same ring to it. Of Time Lords, Detectives and Basilisks? And Lord Voldemort? And diaries? And vain professors? And flying cars? Yea, it's a working title). So do not fear! You shall have procrastination tools yet!**

**Also, just read my Immortal. There is a chance that my writing skills decreased from simply reading it...**

**Now, review replies!**

**Nadinnio: Glad you're liking it! And tacky, never! Impossible for Doctor Who (well, tenth Doctor era), Sherlock and Harry Potter to be tacky! And I get the gist. So thanks!  
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**iggsplosives: Thanks! In answer to your question, the universe would spontaneously combust if that were to happen due to various paradoxes. Nah, I think that... hmm, tough question. Well, the image of an angel is an angel, so that should apply. But, then again, Boggarts are magical beings who define the laws. It depends. Perhaps it would become a weeping angel but still retain some boggart qualities - like if anyone laughed at it or cast a ridikulus then it would obey magic laws, but otherwise it would be an angel. Or maybe it would depend on which was more powerful. If that makes sense...**

**me: Thanks, sir non-descript user name!**

"What did you do?"

Sherlock watched as John turned to him, slowly, looking a bit tired but with a slight ghost of a smile on his face.

"Well, where to start. I talked to a centaur in a different language, and got told that I have a mystical centaur prophecy about me. Oh, and I met Lord Voldemort."

The words themselves could have been incredibly scathing if it weren't for the smile on John's face and the way he added meeting Lord Voldemort. Sherlock would never admit it, but when he'd noticed something in the forest, he'd feared for his friend. Well, not feared. But there had been some emotion. And he knew there was something he'd left out.

"What about the silver light? What was that?"

John shrugged his shoulders at Sherlock, shaking his head with the movement. "I'm not entirely sure, myself. It was me. I was... I don't know. Scared but not? Is that possible? I was staring at it, and it was staring at me, and suddenly there was this... this power. And I said something in Gallifreyan and suddenly there was the silver light. And it was like everything evil was gone, leaving just me. Alone."

"Details, John!"

He needed details. He needed to know exactly what had happened in that forest, exactly how John had done everything. It could be the most important piece in the puzzle of mystery. Plus, his general curiosity wouldn't let him get away with not knowing. He could see the tiniest bit of frustration in John's face, until to Sherlock's surprise, he reached out and grabbed his face, fingers resting on his temples, pulling him forwards until their heads touched. Sherlock frowned in confusion before -

_Flash_

The centaur was kneeling to him

_Flash_

He was running after Draco and Neville

_Flash_

He and Draco were walking through the forest

_Flash_

There was a thing. A thing that caused his heart to race. There was the sound of something smashing and a scream.

_Flash_

His mind was clearing, and he whispered something. There was a bright light

_Flash_

The unicorn was bowing to him. There was no sound - no living being anywhere near.

Sherlock jerked away from John's hands, eyes wide and breaking heavily, staring at the other boy. John, himself, was shaking ever so slightly, staring at his hands as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. He kept on shaking, breathing heavily, and he started to sway. Sherlock noticed his knees beginning to collapse, and quickly ran forwards, lowering John to the ground as the other boy began to get lost in something.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were staring, but Sherlock didn't care. In possibly the rarest display of affection, he lifted his friend off the floor and moved him over to one of the couches near the Gryffindor fireplace, laying him down.

The trio didn't say a thing.

* * *

><p>John was in pain. Well, not really. He wasn't sure what he was in. All that he knew was that something in his head had opened up. Like an entire section he hadn't know existed was suddenly there. He had used it ever so slightly in magic, but it was only brushing against the power. It was the full on use of it that was shocking him. He'd simply been frustrated when he'd grabbed Sherlock's head. He hadn't expected <em>that.<em> Their minds... he'd shown him his thoughts. His memories! That was a bit startling.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, noticing that he'd moved. He was in front of the fire. He looked around and saw that Sherlock was in one of the arm chairs next to him, legs over the arms as he read a book. A second later he noticed John was awake.

"You didn't scream this time. Or cry. Do you have any clue what caused it?"

Okay, he was fine then. John smiled slightly at the fact that his friend didn't do sympathy, simply getting to the point. It was nice at the moment.

"Telepathic. I think. Whoever... whatever I am, they're telepathic. I don't know if it's just this Doctor, or if it's every one of these Time Lords, but there are certain telepathic tendencies. I think I accidentally triggered it because of emotions and the contact."

Sherlock studied his friend, once again with fascination. John always knew it was coming, that look. He was a cross between an experiment and a friend, and this was something that would make his scientific brain go haywire.

"Next time you have a memory, we should try it again," Sherlock said, his tone nonchalant but his eyes gleaming like an eager puppy's. John shook his head at his friend.

"Maybe. It depends on what the memory is."

John would share with him funny memories, some of the good ones, but there were some which were just his own. Those memories of the woman he'd come to identify as his wife. Perhaps one or two memories of just watching the children - his children - play, he would allow his friend to see. And he would never show him those images of the fire and destruction of war. But there were some he would let his friend in on. And some studies that he would, too.

"Ron, Harry and Hermione have gone to bed, haven't they?" he asked. Sherlock nodded, and John smiled and pulled out his screwdriver, which he had taken to keeping in his pocket next to his wand. He still hadn't told Harry, Ron or Hermione about it. There had never really been a good time, and he felt like it was personal. He had debated about telling Sherlock to forget about it, but he figured if he didn't allow Sherlock to learn things at the same time as him, he was likely to wake up one morning and find that the entire thing had been taken apart while he slept.

"Have you figured out anything new about it?" Sherlock asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up.

"Not much. But it's a bit like a wand for muggles, I suppose. With different functions. There's a simple one - the lock pick. There are various technology ones - things for stuff like computers and phones," he said, looking at it. Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable as he began talking about technology - as a wizard he knew little of it. He knew more than most, though, because of Mycroft.

"What else can it do?"

John once again grinned, and began listing the functions, and how he believed they worked. There was one for cauterising wounds, and one for calming animals. There was even one for repairing barbed wire.

* * *

><p>When Harry, Ron and Hermione came into the common room, Sherlock and John were still awake and talking.<p>

"I take it you two have made up, then," Ron said.

"Obviously," came Sherlock's scathing reply, to which Ron composed his face into an annoyed look.

"Well, we should probably get going. We don't want to be late to class with exams next week."

* * *

><p>Exams rolled around sooner than they had expected. Since the night in the forest Harry had been having nightmares almost as frequently as John. It wasn't uncommon for people to come into the common room in the middle of the night and see John and Harry sitting there, sometimes accompanied by Sherlock. Their activities would generally be talking, with the occasional instance of studying in between. On the morning of exams, however, it seemed like half of the first year were awake, studying. When the hour for their first exam rolled around, most kids were looking incredibly nervous. Charms theory was first, and John thought he'd blitzed it. As they went through everything, most people had an idea of how well they'd done.<p>

Both John and Sherlock had probably failed a history of magic, neither of them bothering to pay attention. John felt he did amazingly at the astronomy exam, while Sherlock spent most his his time sitting there writing something unrelated because it didn't interest him. In their practical exams the only person who came close to their skill levels was Hermione. For most of the theory exams John felt he did reasonably well with, with the occasional mistake. Potions they both felt they did well with. But by the end of it, everyone was happy to have just finished it.

* * *

><p>With their exams out of the way, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sherlock and John were free to think about the philosopher's stone. Mainly, how it would be stolen. And while they were sitting there, talking, Ron realised something.<p>

"Isn't it odd, that what Hagrid wants is a dragon's egg. And then some bloke randomly carrying one in his pocket _happens_ to stumble across him. I mean, they're not exactly legal."

"Fluffy," John breathed, making the connection.

Within seconds the five of them had jumped out of their spots and were running down to Hagrid's cabin, bashing on the door.

"All righ', all righ', I'm comin'!"

The door opened and Harry didn't even give Hagrid a chance to talk. "Hagrid, who gave you the dragon's egg."

The big man shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. He ne'er took his hood off."

They all exchanged worried looks.

"Well, did he seem interested in Fluffy at all?"

Hagrid smiled. "Oh, yea. Right curious. 'Ow many three heade' dogs do ya come across in yer life? I simply said, 'Play 'im some music an' 'e'll drop righ' ta sleep'."

Worried looks became alarmed.

"He wants the stone."

Without a single look back, they ran back to the castle. The stakes were higher now, and they knew that it was only a matter of time until it was stolen.

* * *

><p>"Professor McGonagall!"<p>

The teacher spun around, looking at the five first years who were looking at her with wide eyes.

"Professor. The stone. The philosopher's stone. Voldemort's going to try and steal it."

McGonagall shivered as John said the name, and Ron let out a yelp, but he didn't care.

"How do you even know..." her eyes trailed over to Sherlock and she changed the question that she had been asking. "I assure you, the stone is perfectly safe. There are things guarding it. And You-Know-Who is dead."

"Professor, I'm sorry, but you're wrong. He's here. Somehow. He was in the forest, drinking the unicorn blood."

"Not another word."

"Just tell Dumbledore that someone may be coming to steal the stone."

"Professor Dumbledore is away at the Ministry. Now, I suggest you forget everything and go back to your common room before I take off more points."

The group nodded, knowing that they would certainly go to their common room. Staying there, however, was out of the question.

They had a thief to stop.

**I think you all know where this goes! But think again! There will be changes.**


	17. Under the Trap Door

**Nadinnio:I'm excited you're excited! I hope that this doesn't dissapoint!****  
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**me:Their argument didn't last long, really, did it? Well, just you wait and see what happens now!**

**Guys, third last chapter of this fic! I was originally going to have this chapter split into three parts, but I figured that I may as well give you all a slightly bigger chapter instead of a group of small ones. So, enjoy as stuff happens! On Thursday I shall upload the second last chapter, which is a short but exciting one, and then it will be the last chapter. Then there may be a little break before the next story.**

"It's a good thing we've got the cloak back," Harry said as they ran in past the Fat Lady, up the stairs.

"You got it back? When?"

"The night we went into the forbidden forest."

The conversation cut short as they reached the fat lady portrait. Harry gasped out the password and they stumbled into the common room. They didn't even wait, Harry darting up the stairs to grab the cloak and running straight back down.

"This won't fit over all of us. It will fit three, at best."

Sherlock frowned. "Well, John and Harry should go under it, because they can't afford any more trouble. Ron should join you. And if you can fit Hermione, then I can just claim I was bored and went for a stroll. Or pretend that Hermione and I were on our way to ask Professor Flitwick about the exam."

They all nodded on the plan and turned to leave. When they did, however, they ended up face to face with Neville.

"I can't let you guys do this," he told them, the attempt at sounding confident obvious in his voice despite the quiver in it. "You're going to get in more trouble and loose Gryffindor more points."

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't you understand? This is more important than the house cup - more important than anything."

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you go past," Neville said, his wan raised despite the fact that he wasn't the most skilled person.

"Then I'm sorry, but I don't have a choice. Petrificus totalus!"

Neville fell to the ground, limbs stiff. Harry, Ron, Hermione and John all looked guilty, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

"Come on, let's go."

Harry, Ron and John ended up under the cloak while Sherlock and Hermione strolled casually, trying to act calm and collected. Sherlock could hear his blood as it pulsed through him, thumping and thumping in a way that contradicted his calm exterior. He was incredibly nervous about getting caught any time before when they reached the end of this place. If they were stopped, then he doubted anyone else could get there in time.

Fortunately, they weren't stopped. They slipped into the room where Fluffy was, and simply watched as he slept. Sherlock stared as the thing started to stir, and without a second thought started singing the tune to a Bach song, wishing he'd brought along his violin. The giant dog began to drift off to sleep, fortunately. Hermione bent over and moved the paw, showing the trap door under the big beast's foot.

"I'll go first," Harry volunteered. They all nodded, and the boy slipped down the trap door. There was a squelch as he fell into the pit.

"It's okay! There is some sort of plant here!"

The other four exchanged looks, before plunging down after him.

* * *

><p>John landed with a thump, looking around the plant. He frowned at it - it was familiar. It took him a second to place it, but when he did he instantly jumped to his feet.<p>

"It's devil's snare!"

There was an instant of panic. Sherlock was standing stock still, but Ron and Harry were struggling.

"Stop struggling! Stop strugging! Devils snare... devil's snare. Likes the cold and damp," Hermione whispered. Without a second thought, John whipped out his wand and lit a fire. The plant shriveled away from it, wilting under the heat of the flames. The group extracted their limbs from the plant and scrambled away as quickly as possible, escaping the grasp of the plant. None of them bothered to take the time to straighten up, simply running into the next room.

It seemed simply enough. There were a few broomsticks in the room, a bunch of shimmering birds, and a door at the other end. The five exchanged looks.

"Do you think they'll attack if we try to get out the door?" Ron asked. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

"Possibly."

They exchanged another look, before bolting across the room and trying the door.

"It's locked," Ron said, looking a bit annoyed.

"Alohamora!" Hermione said. The spell did nothing.

John reached into his pocket, feeling for the sonic screwdriver. There was a setting for locks. He pulled it out and buzzed it against the lock, but to no avail. "Deadlock sealed," he said, looking a tad annoyed. Harry, Ron and Hermione were all staring at the thing in his hand.

"What the hell is that?" Ron asked. John looked from his trusty screwdriver to his friends, and back to it, remembering that he hadn't told them about it. He gave a sort of half shrug.

"It's my...sonic screwdriver. It's a long story," he said quickly. He'd explain it to them after the stone was safe. "It's not of concern at the moment. What is of concern is how to get through this door."

"They're keys. That's how," Sherlock said, looking at the shining things. "We need to get the right key. Which, I'm willing to bet, is that one."

Their eyes all moved to the brooms. Three of them. "Harry, Ron and John, you go. I dislike flying and Hermione, I'm sorry, but you are reasonably pathetic in the air."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, seeming to be unfussed, although there was a bit of hurt in her eyes. John grinned at Harry and Ron, grabbing the broom.

"We should corner it," Harry told them. "Chase after it and force it into a corner. Then I'll catch it."

John nodded, mounting his broom and kicking off. While it was nowhere near as good as Sherlock's broom, it was still a rush. The ground moved away from him, but he didn't care. He felt alive. Time was soaring past him just like the air was. For a second he almost forgot where he was.

"John!"

He nearly fell off as someone barked his name, until he remembered his job. He moved into position under the identified key, forcing it upwards towards where Ron and Harry were waiting for it. The other two swooped around it, forcing it into a corner, before Harry caught it, pinning it against the wall before holding it in his hand.

"Caught it!"

They swooped down, Harry carefully putting the key into the lock and turning it, the door swinging open. The five of them moved forwards very carefully, through to the next room. Inside, there was a giant chess board. It didn't exactly take a genius to work out what they had to do.

"We have to play our way across."

* * *

><p>They all took their spots on the black side. Ron was standing in for a knight, Harry a bishop, Hermione for the queen, Sherlock for a rook, and John standing there for the other knight. There was a slight silence as the white pieces moved first. Then play began.<p>

It was probably one of the best chess matches that anyone had ever seen, if there was anyone to watch it. Sherlock, John and Ron were commanding the pieces with skill and ease. They had troubles on their own side, and a few times they'd put themselves in the firing line. Still, they were winning, the pile of broken white pieces far bigger than their black ones. They kept on going at a fast pace, until both Ron and Sherlock stopped. John had seen the exact same thing as they had, and was shaking his head.

"You can't."

"He's right, Sherlock. We can probably move it..."

"No, we can't. We don't make this move, we loose our advantage and quite possibly the whole game. Even if we won, it would put us even further behind when it comes to time."

Harry and Hermione were looking at each other, confused. John noticed it.

"We can take the queen in two moves. One of the pieces moves there, checks the king, so then the queen moves to take the piece. Then Harry moves to take the king, and it's check mate."

"Then what's the problem?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I'm the piece.."

"No, you can't!"

Sherlock ignored her, walking confidently across the board.

"Check."

The bored sounding word echoed in the chamber, loud to the group's ears. All eyes watched as the piece moved, slowly moving towards their friend. It raised it's hand and crashed it atop Sherlock's head.

The young boy fell to the floor, a bit of blood leaking out of his head and over his pale skin. John had never seen the boy look quite so fragile - they were all so easily breakable, these humans.

"Harry, move over there," Ron said with a steady voice. Harry nodded and moved, looking up at the massive chess piece that was the king. It took off it's crown and threw it at his feet in defeat.

Without a second to spare, Harry, Ron, Hermione and John ran over to where the fallen Sherlock lay. Ron looked at him, slightly guiltily.

"You three go on. I'll take him, grab a broom and get him to the hospital wing."

They nodded. "Send Dumbledore an owl," Harry told Ron. Ron nodded seriously.

"Good luck."

**Mwahahaha**


	18. Moriarty

**Nadinnio:Aye! We're reaching the end! But don't worry - I shall not be abandoning my little 'verse after I've finished this stoy. There's still a long way to go!****  
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**TheQuestionThatRemains: I know - I rarely do cliff hangers! And there's only two! Well, one more after this one. And it's kinda an epilogue more than a chapter! And this cliffhanger is worse than the last!  
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**MyNameIsSara: Haha, I'm not sure it's that good. But thanks!**

**puddingflaun: Fine, here's an update for you!**

Harry, Hermione and John picked their way through the next room, where a troll lay, completely unconscious. They quietly made their way around it, not wanting the thing to stir.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Hermione whispered softly. Harry nodded, but John got distracted. He could see something through the next room. He didn't bother to wait for Harry and Hermione, running ahead of them. To his surprise, there seemed not to be a trap on the room. He turned to make sure Hermione and Harry were still behind him. They stepped into the room after him, and suddenly flames shot up.

John yelped, jumping backwards and spinning around. There, behind him, was Professor Quirell and a young boy, barely more than seventeen, caught in a fight. Both were quite preoccupied, shooting curses at each other as they fought in a dangerous dance.

"Give me the stone," Quirell growled, shooting another curse at the young boy. The kid deflected it with ease, a grin on his face.

"How about... no."

"Don't you know who I serve?"

The boy laughed. "Doesn't Lord Voldemort know who I am?" he countered. There was a slight intake of breath coming from Quirell's turban.

"How dare you speak his name!"

"How dare your master be too _cowardly _to face me."

There was a slight pause, before there was another voice from the turban.

"Let me face him."

"My lord."

"Let me face him! Jim Moriarty must know his place!"

John slipped further backwards, into the shadows, wishing he had the invisibility cloak. He watched as Quirell unbound the turban, his breath catching in his throat. There was a face under it. One that he recognised from the forest. He would never be able to forget those eyes. And the pure evil sought out his own.

"You."

Moriarty turned and looked at him, and John could swear both of his hearts stuttered. He carefully reached to grab his wand, a slow, careful movement. With his wand, he could do the same thing as everyone else. He had taken on Voldemort with it, and he was sure he could take on Sherlock's enemy.

The man didn't even blink, flicking his wand. John's own went clattering across the floor, and he looked up at Moriarty. He could see in his peripherals that Voldemort was slinking up behind the man, and his pulse once more jumped. He didn't want to be caught in the cross fire. Any second now, Moriarty would realise, and then... he'd seen them fight before, and he didn't want to see it again.

But then a figure came through the flames. Harry. And Moriarty's eyes flicked off John and onto the other boy. Voldemort also did the same, Quirell's head moving in an almost grotesque way.

"Harry Potter."

John lunged for his wand, feeling the wood grow warm under his hand. He could see Harry lunge at Voldemort, and smelt smoke, but he didn't have time to focus on that. Moriarty had turned on him, and right now he was looking into the cold, calculating black eyes. He whispered something in Gallifreyan, but Moriarty deflected it, flicking his wand again. John tried to say something, but his voice didn't come. Even with his wand, he couldn't say the incantation.

Moriarty once more flicked his wand, and John went flying backwards, crashing into the wall behind him. If he could, he would have yelped in pain. Moriarty was looming over him, his eyes so much worse than Voldemort's. Voldemort was something evil. Moriarty was... he was what Sherlock could be.

"Do you know how Dumbledore protected the stone? His last defense? The mirror. If you wanted to use the stone, that's all you would see. Only one who wanted it, but didn't want to use it, could get it."

John blinked, his hand moving towards his wand. He could smell smoke, and burning flesh, but he didn't pay it attention. He could see Harry fall, but he couldn't exactly help.

"But he didn't know me. With this, I have one of the greatest bargaining chips of all time. Eternal life and money! I, myself, do not want or need it, but the amount of manipulation I could do with it!"

Moriarty moved closer to John, his face right in front of the young boy's.

"You, though, you are an unexpected bonus. I can manipulate the world with the stone, but with you I can manipulate the Holmes. And that is so much better than the world. You know, Mycroft had arranged for you to go into his custody. The third Holmes brother. But now, all that time wasted."

The hand was on his collar, lifting him into the air and slamming him against the wall again. He frantically tried to do something, but nothing came to mind. Moriarty pointed his wand at John, and suddenly he was consumed by darkness.

**Like I said, short. And cliffy. But I updated earlier than I thought I would! Hope you enjoy, and one more chapter left.**


	19. Epilogue

**Went to a Boy & Bear concert last night. Best thing I've ever been to. If you have no clue who they are, look them up. They're possibly my favorite band at the moment. Indie Folk. Yea, I know. Anyway, onwards!**

**Nadinnio: Thanks! I'll probably add an Author's note to the end when I've got the next story up**

**MyNameIsSara: THANK YOU!**

The days that followed at Hogwarts were eerie. Sherlock only spent a day in the hospital wing because of his injuries, but anyone could see that John's disappearance was hitting him hard. If he'd shown anti-social tendencies before, it was nothing like now. When he woke up, Ron had actually been the one to break the news to him. He had just sort of stared at him for quite a while, before rolling over and pretending to go back to sleep. Even when he and Harry were discharged, Sherlock simply sat alone in the corner of the common room, either doing work or deep in thought.

"I do hope John's okay," Hermione said. Ron and Hermione both nodded, completely in agreement. Nobody else knew exactly what had happened, but of course everyone knew something big had gone down. Dumbledore seemed to be on a higher alert than usual, John was missing, and the third floor corridor was no longer out of bounds.

When Harry had woken up in the hospital wing, Dumbledore had been sitting there, head in hands. The very second he realised the young boy was awake, he'd straightened up and smiled, but Harry had seen a sort of deep set sadness there.

"Harry. I suppose you have some questions."

They had talked for a while, until finally Harry had to ask. "Is everyone else okay? Sherlock, John, Hermione, Ron?"

Dumbledore had watched him for a minute, those eyes looking sad again from under his silver blue eyes.

"Sherlock had made a full recovery, and Hermione and Ron are fine."

"And John?"

There was a pause. "John's whereabouts are currently unknown. As I understand, Voldemort and Moriarty were fighting, and Moriarty had the stone. Then, after you had defeated Voldemort, they disappeared. I got there just in time to see them leave."

And at that, Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. It was his fault all this had happened. His fault John was gone. All his fault.

* * *

><p>Gryffindor ended up winning at the leaving feast. Points were rewarded to Hermione for her cool head in the potions room, and to Ron and Sherlock for excellent chess skills and an unlikely display of friendship. Harry was awarded points for his outstanding bravery against Lord Voldemort, although the name wasn't said aloud. Then there was a pause. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sherlock somehow knew what he was about to say.<p>

"In their endeavors, however, not all ran smoothly. In circumstances that none could have predicted, John Smith went missing. It is suspected that this disappearance is the work of Moriarty. I do not wish to cause alarm, but I feel I must warn you that there are always dangers out there. The ministry is conducting a search for John, and under no circumstances are any students to go looking for him. However, if you do chance upon a clue as to where he may be, I must ask you to inform me at once."

There was a stunned silence in the school. Very few people had really noticed John was gone - most had assumed he was in the hospital wing, or perhaps at another wizarding hospital. But no, John was gone. That was something new. He was just... not there.

"I don't care what Dumbledore says," Sherlock said softly, "I'm going to find him if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

><p>Sherlock had found his own carriage on the train back to King's Cross. He didn't particularly want to spend time with other people, although he had been getting on better with Ron since the adventure. He had other things on his mind - thoughts about a young, lost boy, who was now in some unknown location with his arch enemy. He knew, now, that there was no escaping Jim Moriarty. There could never be a Holmes with a Moriarty - they were like summer and winter. Day and night.<p>

_Daleks and Time Lords._

He shook his head, leaning back into the seat. He had all of John's possessions with him, and was moving them to the Holmes mansion. If - no, when - they got John back, he was moving in with them. Sherlock was flipping casually through John's journal. It was actually quite fascinating - the way he moved between the different languages. The swirls were quite often translated, John hastily adding notes to the language. There were very nice illustrations, and he was writing about everything from either first or third person. Things like the war he wrote about, they were in third person. But small events, like Joan Redfern and his wife, they were written about in first person. A loving detail.

If even half the stuff he'd written was true, John was a truly remarkable man. Even as he was, without his memory, he was something above, something better than everyone else. The sleep, the mannerisms, the intelligence, the kindness, the languages. How many of those were things left over from whatever past he had? Would John be as kind if he knew it? Sherlock shook his head, putting down the diary. He needed to think. He couldn't get too emotional about the boy. That wouldn't help. No, he needed to treat John like any other case. He would track down Moriarty and get his friend back.

_Tap tap._

Sherlock spun and saw an owl, flying alongside the train. The window got hastily opened, the bird let in, and the note tied to it read.

_I have your John. He's a cute kid, isn't he? Bright, too. Almost got away a couple of times. Not to worry, though. I've got him nice and secure. I have quite a few things that I'd quite like your brother to do - a list of requests for upgrades to the ministry of magic. And tell him that every day that nothing happens, I hurt your precious John a little more. I've already spilt his blood._

_JM_

Underneath the message was a splash of blood. It was a slightly more coppery tone to the red blood of humans. Another difference. Sherlock stared at the writing, in the strange coloured ink, and realised with a sinking feeling that it was the same stuff. It was blood. John's blood. And there was a picture attached, as well. A moving one. John was tied up, staring at the camera with those big, brown eyes. He could see a long cut in his arm, and the blood pooling a bit. The drips seemed to almost be in a pattern as it leaked onto the floor.

Sherlock stared at it for quite some time, trying to figure out what it was. Then it clicked. It was crude - very crude. The blood, in circular drips.

Gallifreyan.

He instantly was at the diary, looking for all the translations. He skimmed through the pages, until he found a sort of rough alphabet. Of course, John had made this easy for him. If one had access to his diary and to this picture, they could easily decode it. But Moriarty had no clue what the odd formation of the blood was. So Sherlock was at an advantage.

He finally finished reading it - the language was complex, even just in simple alphabetical text. But he grinned with slight satisfaction. He had a lead.

_Godric's Hollow._

* * *

><p>John was trying to get his wrists out of the ropes that bound them. There was a searing pain in his wrist from where Moriarty had cut into his skin, one of his eyes were swollen shut and he hurt all over. He was steadily learning that Moriarty was a skilled wizard, and that the man was incredibly able. He was read to play a game with Sherlock and Mycroft - he had told John.<p>

_"I don't actually care if the changes happen or not," _he had told him with a smile. _"I just want to watch them struggle with their morals. I wonder how long it will take for them to find you."_

John had sat there, silenced by a spell. When Moriarty was writing to Sherlock, he decided to show off a bit. Cutting into his arm. On a whim, a hopeful one, John had began to make a pattern with the blood. He knew where he was. And Sherlock would figure it out. He would have to. The boy was smart. So he'd begun to drawn on the floor with his own blood. If Moriarty could write with it...

Sure enough, the man took a picture of him and attached it to the note. Then they just sat there in silence.

"Just you wait for tomorrow. They won't have done anything. And I think I may have some fun with you. We've got a long ride ahead of us."

The eleven year old struggled slightly against his bonds, but he couldn't get out. Moriarty was right - it was going to be a long, long ride.

**Also feel he need to add that, due to my extreme cruelty, that is the end of Of Time Lords, Detectives and Philosopher Stones! But, due to the fact that I'm not that mean, you'll have a sequel before the end of June. Basically once I figure out how exactly this plot twist is going to end (why yes, this was largely unplanned)**

**So, until next time!**


	20. AN

**A/N**

**Hello! For all of you who haven't put me on author alert or anything, I feel the need to inform you that the sequel to this story is up. So keep reading and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**DFTBA - ****Tash**


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